


So I'll be your candle and I'll be your statuette.

by barthelme



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And Armie maybe becomes the world's biggest fan of Timmy's mouth, Angst with a Happy Ending, Armie wakes up with a vagina, Closeted Armie, Genderswap, Gratuitous use of the word "panties", I Had To, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry, M/M, Oral Sex, Roommates, Sexual Frustration, Suspension Of Disbelief, Timmy is the world's biggest fan of oral sex, Timmy is very bisexual, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, vagically delicious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22989349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barthelme/pseuds/barthelme
Summary: Timmy has seen Armie’s cock before, so when he throws open Armie’s bedroom door to see him flat against the bed with his boxers spread along the middle of his thighs, hand between his legs, Timmy isn’t exactly shocked. He knows Armie jerks off. They have thin walls and share one between their bedrooms. Hell, he has walked in on him jerking off once before and now considers himself an expert on Armie’s dick.But heisshocked that, as far as he can tell, there is no cock between his legs.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 259
Kudos: 233





	1. Chapter 1

Timmy has seen Armie’s cock before. 

He has seen his cock before because they live in an eight hundred square foot, two bedroom apartment with an “open floor plan” which really just means the couch has to act as seating for the dining room. He has seen Armie’s cock as he darts to the kitchen for a drink of water at midnight. When he forgets a towel and has to dash across the hall to his bedroom. When it’s laundry day and Armie lounges around in his robe, forgetting that his spread is quite large and his...well, his cock is quite big. 

Timmy has seen Armie’s cock before, so when he throws open Armie’s bedroom door to see him flat against the bed with his boxers spread along the middle of his thighs, hand between his legs, Timmy isn’t exactly shocked. He knows Armie jerks off. They have thin walls and share one between their bedrooms. Hell, he has walked in on him jerking off once before--

(And what a fucking sight. Propped up against his headboard, his long fingers wrapped around an impossibly thick cock slick with lube while his other hand rested on his chest, thumb toying his nipple. He must have been close, so fucking close because he looked over at Timmy and hissed, “Get the fuck out, Timmy,” but didn’t stop the twist of his wrist as he jerked himself, didn’t stop the slight rocking of his hips up into his fist, didn’t stop his fucking thighs from rippling with the tension he was putting on his muscles and--

Fuck. Timmy had quickly backed out with an apology and it had been one of the hardest things he’s ever done. 

Afterwards, he’d thought of all the ways he could have talked his way into staying. “It’s not gay if I don’t touch you, it’s not gay if I don’t swallow, it’s not gay if we don’t talk about it afterwards, it’s not gay if you fuck me so rough I can’t sit for a week.” Anything to keep Armie safe and cozy in his little closet of denial while Timmy was able to get a taste, just a little bit, anything.)

\--and now considers himself an expert on Armie’s dick. 

But he _is_ shocked that, as far as he can tell, there is no cock between his legs. Which, he supposes Armie could be soft and, somehow, his thick cock is hidden between his thighs. He supposes it could be an optical illusion of sorts. It is morning, after all, and Armie’s room has shit lighting in his room. 

However, Timmy is a God damn expert so he knows better and, “What the _fuck_, dude,” he says as he takes a step further into the room, promptly getting smacked in the face by a pillow Armie yanks out from under his own head and hurls at Timmy. 

“Get the fuck out, Timmy!” Armie yells and quickly throws his comforter over his lap, one hand still tucked firmly on his crotch, the other holding the comforter in place. 

“Armie, what the fuck happened to your--”

“I said, ‘Get the fuck out, Timmy,’” Armie repeats, but this time, quieter. His eyes are wide. Face pale. He locks eyes with Timmy and he looks ashamed. Obviously, he looks confused, scared, shocked. But he mainly looks ashamed, like he’s been betrayed by his body. By himself. He says, even quieter than his repetition, “Please.”

Timmy nods. Tries to make a neutral expression as he walks out of the bedroom, but is pretty sure his eyebrows have taken up permanent residence in his hairline. 

The door clicks closed behind him and Timmy presses his back against it. Blinks and finally closes his mouth. “Holy fucking fuck,” he says under his breath. Out loud, announces, “I’ll make waffles!”

____

Timmy makes waffles and tries not to speculate about the missing member between Armie’s thighs. Tries not to think about how, if Timmy’s eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, Armie would actually look like a Ken doll right now. 

That’s not true. Armie would look better than a Ken doll. He’d look better than a Ken doll because he’s got chest hair and thick thighs and a round ass and ankles that Timmy wants to bite. Fuck, even his toes (long and delicate and sprinkled with hair) are hot and Timmy isn’t into feet. He’s not. Not even remotely, but he would lick the arches of Armie’s feet just to find out what sound he’d make. Bite his heel to compare. 

It’s actually easy to not speculate because Timmy keeps thinking about the look on Armie’s face. The look of betrayal, of--Timmy hates to recognize this and put a phrase to it--self hate. A look he’s seen countless times on Armie’s face when Timmy catches him looking at Timmy from across the room. Looking at Timmy’s chest when he’s crossing the hallway from the shower, scanning down to where his chest meets his towel. 

He’s seen it when they’re watching a movie and somehow gravitate towards one another, somehow end up shoulder to shoulder on their tiny couch and Timmy will try. Will spread his legs a bit so their knees touch, so they are connected from shoulder to hip to thigh. And, sometimes, Armie will let them stay like that for a bit. Will lick his lips and lock his eyes on the spot where their legs are joined. 

(And, sometimes, Timmy will try to get the courage to do it. To put his hand on Armie’s knee, his thigh. [Later, he’ll daydream about sliding to his knees and whispering, “It’s okay, right?” before pressing his face into the crotch of Armie’s sweatpants. Mouthing at his cock, and teasing him until finally getting down to business and--right, he’ll daydream about that because he would never be that forward. Would never ask for permission; would wait for Armie to just give it.] He’ll tell himself that if he counts to ten and Armie still hasn’t moved away, he’s going to do it. But he never does, just keeps counting, counting, counting like he’s going for a record. And, maybe, he is.

[He’s gotten up to fifty-eight, but Armie was pretty drunk, very sleepy, so it doesn’t count. Thirty-two is the actual record.])

He’s seen it the one time--the one fucking time--Timmy almost took control. Almost kissed Armie. Armie was helping Timmy install a shelf in his closet and they were crammed in said closet, Armie holding up the shelf while Timmy drilled it to the wall. He moved for a better angle and the side of his hip grazed the semi-hard bulge in Armie’s pants and Timmy had turned to look at him, to ask a random question just to make Armie believe he hadn’t noticed. But Armie’s face was _right there_ and his cheeks were flushed and lips were parted and his tongue was wetting his lower lip and Timmy leaned forward an inch with every intent of sucking that wet lip between his own and coaxing a kiss from Armie. 

But Armie had backed up and said, “My arms are getting tired,” even though his expression was one of hatred that looked inward. 

So, it’s easy not to speculate about what Armie looks like because all he can think about is ways to let Armie know that everything will be okay. 

______

The waffles get cold, so Timmy makes bacon. Knocks on Armie’s door and says, “There’s bacon, too, Armie,” which apparently is the winning ticket because Timmy goes back to the kitchen counter and sits on one of the stools. Takes a bite of bacon and, by the time he swallows, Armie’s door is open and he’s joining Timmy. Scooting his stool a few inches away before sitting down. 

He’s wearing black sweatpants and his robe. Says, “Thanks,” before he takes a bite of his cold waffle. Says thanks like he’s grateful for the waffle, but Timmy knows it’s more. For leaving the bedroom, for not pushing him. 

“You’re welcome,” Timmy say. Pushes his plate away and asks, “Do you want coffee?” Stands up and walks around the bar to their coffee pot which is grimy. It isn’t used much because they usually get coffee at the shop down the street. They usually don’t make a pot of coffee, but Timmy fills the carafe and pours stale grounds into the machine. Turns it on and leans back against the counter. 

Stares at the bushel of bananas that are turning brown on the counter because Armie always thinks he wants to start eating better, buys a ton of fruits and vegetables, and then _doesn’t eat them_ and they all end up going bad. 

It’s so quiet, save for the steam building in the coffee pot, that Timmy imagines he can hear the faint tick of a clock somewhere in the building. Knows it’s just in his head as he counts the seconds, as he waits for words to pop in his head that aren’t intrusive, aren’t going to make Armie’s face fall--

(And he darts a quick look and Armie looks fairly composed, eyes focused on his plate as he shovels food in his mouth. Tucking bites of waffle in his cheek like a squirrel and it’s adorable, so fucking cute. God, Timmy doesn’t know how he has survived living with him for two years.)

\--that will make him feel better, safe. 

“So, do you want--”

“--I don’t want to fucking talk about my dick with you, Tim. Also, learn to knock.”

Timmy bites his tongue for a second. Says, “I was going to ask if you wanted to go grocery shopping later. Also, I’m sorry for walking in on you. You walk in on me--”

“That’s _different_ and you know it,” Armie says. Quickly shoves an entire piece of bacon in his mouth and closes his eyes. Chews and swallows, says, “I mean--”

Timmy pushes off the counter and gives a trite laugh. “Oh, I know what you meant.” He opens the cupboard and grabs a mug. Wipes the inside of it out on the hem of his shirt. 

He’s not even that mad because it’s Armie and he gets a pass on most things. Timmy knows how hard it can be to hide, how hard it can be to cover things up. It’s exhausting and he’s glad he doesn’t do that anymore. But he knows how you sometimes say things you maybe don’t mean. 

He is a little mad, though. Asks, “Can you clarify, though? It’s okay for you to walk in on me because you’re not dying to see my dick. But is it _different_ because you think I enjoy having you walk in on me or is it _different_ because you think I’m trying to walk in and see your dick? Which, now is obviously a--” he cuts himself off and whips around to the coffee pot. “Sorry. I’m sorry, Armie, I--”

“I deserve that,” Armie concedes. Timmy pours coffee into the mug. “Fuck. I don’t know what the fuck is happening, Timmy.”

Timmy slides the coffee across the counter for Armie. Takes his empty plate and puts it in the sink. 

“I’ll do those,” Armie says, nodding his chin towards the sink. “It was good. Thanks.”

Timmy nods and grabs another mug. Wipes it out and pours coffee. 

“Can we do shopping tomorrow?” Armie asks, and Timmy nods. Takes his coffee to the living room and stares at his phone. 

(Definitely doesn’t Google “what to do when your friends dick vanishes,” because even Google doesn’t know that. Or does it?)

(It doesn’t.)

____

Armie spends most of the day in his room. 

Timmy spends most of the day cleaning out old food from the fridge and walking up to Armie’s door, prepared to knock. Then, backing away because he doesn’t know what to say. 

They don’t make how-to manuals on this.

____

Sunday, they get in Timmy’s car to go grocery shopping and Armie folds himself in (he’s stopped bitching about how little leg room he has at least six months ago) and asks, “Mind if we go to Target instead?”

And Timmy shrugs. Puts the car in gear and drives to Target. 

____

Timmy veers into the dollar section and Armie follows. “Oh shit,” Timmy says and grabs a pair of socks with dancing bananas printed on them. “Sold,” he says, throwing them into the cart. 

“Pretty sure those are women’s socks,” Armie comments. 

Timmy rolls his eyes and pushes the cart down the short aisle. “They’re socks,” he says before asking, “Do we need anything other than food?” His eyes glide over the shelves, but then he turns the cart and starts heading for the grocery section. “I think we’re good on toilet paper and--”

“Yeah, I have to grab some stuff,” Armie says. Scratches the back of his head and and points vaguely towards where housewares abruptly turns into clothing. “I’ll catch up? Can you grab me some fruit?”

Timmy rolls his eyes. “You never _eat_ the fruit.”

Armie shrugs. “Then make it something you like, too,” he says before walking off. Timmy watches him for a second. He likes seeing people’s reactions to Armie. Likes how heads turn upwards, how hands travel to lips, how people openly stare. How he becomes the center of attention without asking for it or noticing it. 

Except today he’s different. Shoulders hunched and head lowered. He seems aware of the stares. His stride isn’t as deliberate and Timmy sighs as he walks in the opposite direction.  
____

They meet up in the snack aisle. Armie grabs a bulk container of stuffed pretzels and tosses them in the cart along with a pair of navy sweatpants (that Timmy knows will be too short on him) and a pack of panties. 

Timmy swallows and stares at the display of nuts in front of him. Asks, “Almonds or pistachios?”

“Pistachios,” Armie responds. His cheeks are red and he brushes by Timmy to grab a bag. Thinks better of it and puts the bag back, exchanging it for the unshelled kind. Throws it in the cart and asks, “Did you get my fruit?”

Timmy nods and pushes the cart to the end of the aisle. 

____

On the drive home, Timmy asks, “So, do you have any idea what caused,” he licks his lips. “You know.”

He’s at a red light, but he doesn’t have to turn his head to see Armie’s minute head shake. “No.”

“Like, you didn’t--”

“_Timmy_,” Armie says. His voice is sullen. “I was with you the night before.”

Timmy remembers. They’d ordered pizza and watched a few movies. Armie had been distracted, texting his friend Nick (who was, in a way, Timmy’s friend by association. He has his number saved in his phone, but there’s only one text from him and it reads, “this is nick.”)

“I know,” Timmy says. “I just--”

“I don’t _know_, okay?” Armie says. Looks out the window and folds his hands over his lap. 

“Okay,” Timmy says.  
____

On Monday, Armie goes to work. He comes home and goes to his bedroom. 

Timmy works from home for the week. Most of the time, he goes to a coffee shop to work, but this week, he stays home. Set up at the dining table with his paperwork and laptop spread in front of him. Ready to talk if Armie needs him. Looking up when Armie comes home and asking how his day was. 

“Fine,” Armie says every day, then goes to his room.  
____

The apartment gets quiet. 

Armie spends most of his time in his bedroom and Timmy spends most of his time on the internet, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. It’s basically useless, so he goes to Reddit. 

On Wednesday, he goes to Reddit and signs out of his account. Creates a new one. tc1234hal. 

He searches for a subreddit for too long. Honestly, he doesn’t know where to go. He doesn't want to be insensitive and he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing in the wrong place. He gets lost reading other posts and hearing stories that aren’t similar but still make him want to know more. 

That make him want to help. To listen. 

But Armie doesn’t seem like wants to talk, so Timmy goes to /nostupidquestions and asks: 

_my male/33 friend randomly doesn’t have a dick anymore? was with me the night before. nothing weird happened. he doesn’t know why. has anyone had this happen before? heard of it happening? TIA. _

He posts it and goes to make a couple grilled cheese sandwiches. 

_____

He gets comments immediately. Mainly shit he downvotes because “can we see a pic?” “lol you made him ur bitch like that” are not helpful and just. Make him fucking angry. Make him so angry he thinks about deleting his post and account. 

But then: 

_EC1982: Hey! Interesting question and definitely not stupid. Has he had any drastic changes in his life? Or, rather, anything he’d like to change in his life?_

Timmy reads it once, twice. Licks his lips and then gets up to get a drink. 

Comes back with a beer and responds: _i am 99% sure he is gay and in the closet._

He refreshes for a while, then goes to bed. 

____

Timmy didn’t close his laptop. 

He didn’t close his laptop and when he wakes up on Thursday, Armie is leaned over it. His face is red and sad and Timmy wants to apologize, wants to tell him it’s okay, that it’s just the internet, that he just wanted to help. “The fuck is this, Timmy?”

“I--”

Armie slams the laptop shut and Timmy is relatively certain he’s going to need a new laptop. “We’re not all fa--” he cuts himself off, spit spewing from his lips, resting in the corners of his mouth. “I’m not like you,” he says. 

Timmy crosses his arms over his chest. Wishes he’d put on more than his t-shirt and a pair of boxers. “I’m aware,” he says. He’s aware because he’s seen the way Armie looks at him. Has…

(Fuck, he shouldn’t admit this. But he’s seen Armie’s search history. Used his computer more than once and maybe Armie doesn’t know. Maybe he trusts Timmy more than he should, but Timmy has _seen_ his fucking search history and it’s not like Timmy’s. 

Timmy watches porn. He watches porn and sometime it’s het, sometimes gay. Rarely bi, but sometimes, sometimes. But it's never soft, never gentle. It's shit that Timmy doesn't want people to know he's into, not until they're close, not until he trusts them. And, if he's being honest, he goes through partners too quickly to trust anyone. So, right, his own search history is a bit colorful.

Armie’s was not like that. It was men on men. It was softcore and gentle and fucking precious as hell like something someone would look for when they wanted to pretend they weren’t looking at all.

God, it was hot. He was supposed to be looking for fried rice recipes, but instead he’d sat in the kitchen, watching the porn Armie liked on mute while Armie sat in the living room playing video games. It was so fucking hot, watching what Armie allowed himself to watch. What he allowed himself to like and get off on and Timmy wanted to tell him then that there was so much more, that they could be--

...Whatever, it was cute. Armie’s porn was cute. And hot. Really fucking hot.)

“I’m just trying to help,” Timmy says. “I don’t like how quiet you’ve gotten.”

At that, Armie blinks. Just blinks and turns to the kitchen. Starts a pot of coffee and asks, “Have you told anyone else?”

Timmy shakes his head. Realizes Armie hasn’t looked at him yet. Walks into the kitchen and says, “Of course not.”

“But you told the internet.”

Timmy rolls his eyes. “With a new username. It’s literally the only--”

“I don’t want anyone to know.”

Timmy sighs. “I figured.” 

“Like, I don’t even want _you_ to--”

Timmy steps forward and says, “Okay, but I do know and I don’t care. I literally don’t care, because it doesn’t change how I feel about you as a person. I mean, except for the fact that you haven’t talk to me in--”

Armie points at the laptop. “Because you’re doing shit like this.”

“Trying to help?’ Timmy asks. “And this is literally the first time I’ve done anything other than--”

“I just don’t want to talk about this fucking vagina, Timmy. I don’t want to--”

Timmy backs up. “Your what now?”

Armie glares. “Fuck you, Timmy.”

“No, no, like, you said vagina and--”

“Fuck you,” Armie says again, sounding as betrayed as he looks. Goes to his room. Slams the door. 

____

On Thursday, Armie goes to work and Timmy calls in sick. He calls in sick because he actually feels sick to his stomach. Hates that he’s made Armie feel bad. That he’s made him feel exposed. He didn’t mean to. He was trying to help. 

Timmy calls in sick and he spends most of the day in bed. Under the covers and trying to formulate an apology to Armie. 

But. 

But, fuck, he keeps going back to Armie’s god damn beautiful voice saying, ‘This fucking vagina.’

This fucking vagina, his fucking vagina, fucking his vagina. Vagina.

Timmy feels dumb. So fucking dumb. In his head, Armie was a Ken doll, but _obviously_ that couldn’t have been true. He has to pee, right? Which isn’t what Timmy naturally thinks about so he doesn’t feel _that_ dumb that he just pictured Armie as a smooth piece of plastic but. 

But, fuck, that was preferable. 

Because now he’s thinking of Armie’s _vagina_ and it shouldn’t be this hot but it is. Because it’s _Armie_ and Timmy was still attracted to him when he thought he’d magically lost his genitals. 

Timmy rolls on his side. He shouldn’t think about this. He shouldn’t think about how Armie has a vagina. He should be thinking about how he doesn’t have a dick and how that is traumatizing and how he should help him and how his fucking labia are probably thick as hell and Timmy wants to feel them between his lips. 

No, no, that’s no--

Fuck. _Fuck_, Timmy thinks and brings his right hand to his mouth, his left to his cock. Slips it into his boxers and starts to fist his cock while he opens the fingers on his right hand into a tight, rigid ‘V.’

He probably shouldn’t have done that.

He probably shouldn’t jerk off while he slips his tongue between his fingers, keeping it soft and gentle and imagining how Armie might jerk against him. How he might thread his fingers through Timmy’s hair and sigh. Imagine how he might taste a bit like soap but mainly like sweat and salt and _Armie_. Which is everything that Timmy wants. 

He probably shouldn’t jerk off while he holds his tongue still. Stiff and rigid. While he slides the “V” of his fingers back and forth over it, imagining Armie’s thighs around his cheeks and his pussy riding his face, his juices eventually leaking over Timmy’s lips, his jaw. 

Yeah, he probably shouldn’t do that, but he does, and he comes on his fist thinking about it and, fuck, he’s the worst roommate and friend ever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have realized that i am an awful human and did not credit the "vagically delicious" tag to the genius who is eliooliver (eliooliver83 on tumblr if you want to badger them there.) and this fic is their fault and the amount of hand holding they have done during this is astounding and my hands thank you. timmy's do, as well ;)

Timmy showers. He showers and washes his face. Scrubs at his cheeks and tries to rub away the phantom tickle of Armie’s leg hair against his cheeks. Opens his mouth and lets it fill with warm water, swishing it in his mouth before spitting it out. Washing away the fabricated taste of Armie’s body. 

He stands under the spray and lets the water hit him, lets his eyes close and wills away any images of Armie because even though he just came, he knows if he thinks about Armie’s solid body juxtaposed with the soft, wet heat of his--

“No,” Timmy says firmly, his eyes opening and head shaking. He can be good. He washes his cock quickly and turns the water off. 

____

Timmy is sprawled on the couch when Armie comes home holding two Jimmy John’s sandwiches. “Roast beef or B.L.T.” Armie says and it sounds like a half-hearted, ‘I forgive you for being the worst roommate and friend ever.’ Or maybe a sandwich is just a sandwich. 

Armie looks good. He always looks good, but he looks _good_ today. Armie’s office has a fairly casual dress code (in the summer, Armie wears flip-flops. Nice flip-flops, but flip-flops. They might be against dress code, but he looks good in them so Timmy assumes no one argues.) 

(And, fuck, now Timmy’s thinking about Armie’s toes in those flip flops. He really, really, really isn’t into feet but he’s into every inch of Armie. This one and the old one. Wait, they’re the same Armie just different.)

Right, so he looks good. Dark jeans and a thick, cable-knit sweater. He raises an eyebrow at Timmy. Gives the sandwiches a soft shake. 

“Roast beef,” Timmy says and catches the sandwich when Armie tosses it at him before walking the two and a half steps to the kitchen and putting his sandwich on the counter. Tossing the wrapper aside and then eating it above the sink. “How was work?” 

Armie shrugs and tucks a stray piece of lettuce back into his mouth. “It was work,” he mumbles around a mouthful of food. 

Timmy carefully unwraps his sandwich and takes a bite. Asks, “You still working on that museum project?” 

Armie is already half done with his food. Timmy is always delightfully disgusted by how quickly Armie can eat when he wants to. “Nope,” Armie says and then swallows. Seems to have to force the question, “You didn’t go to work again?”

“Called in sick,” Timmy explains. 

Armie turns to look at him. Rips another bite off the sandwich and chews. “You look fine.”

Timmy shrugs and uses his thumb and forefinger to pinch a piece of roast beef that’s dangling from between the bread. Pulls it free and places it in his mouth. “Just felt shitty,” he says and hopes Armie understands that means, ‘I felt shitty about making you feel bad.”

“Oh,” Armie says and takes the final bite of his sandwich. “About what?”

Timmy takes the bait. Swallows and admits, “About you.”

Armie leans against the counter and peels the sticker off his sandwich wrapper. Sticks it to his thumb before crumpling up the wrapper. Stares at Timmy. “So you feel shitty that my dick is gone.” He plays with the sticker, letting it fold between his fingers. Licks his lips and looks down at the sticker. “You feel shitty that I have a fucking pussy where my--”

“I feel shitty that _you_ feel shitty,” Timmy interrupts. Sets his sandwich down and stands up. Takes the few steps to the kitchen and opens the fridge. Grabs a beer. It’s not a twist off and he realizes now that Armie is in front of the drawer with the bottle opener. “I just--”

“You just what? Want to help me get my dick back so you can keep walking in on me? You just want to be able to--”

Timmy twists the neck of the beer between his fists and says, “Jesus Christ, Armie, I just feel bad, okay? Because you’re obviously not happy and--”

“Of course I’m not fucking happy I have a fucking pussy and--”

Timmy sets the beer down and raises his hands. “There’s nothing wrong with having a vagina, Armie--”

“Except I’m supposed to have a--”

“--well, I tried to help you figure it--”

“--you fucking told strangers that I have a cunt now instead of a dick and--”

“--Armie that’s not--”

“--it’s fucking embarrassing and scary and I don’t know what the fuck to do and you just _told_ people and started talking to people like I’m a fucking subject to be studied and.”

Armie swipes a hand across his mouth. Steps forward enough to open the drawer and pull out the bottle opener. Grabs Timmy’s bottle and snaps the cap off. Shoves it towards him. Goes to the fridge and gets his own. 

“It’s not embarrassing,” Timmy insists. 

Armie rolls his eyes and tosses his own cap onto the counter. Throws the bottle opener in the drawer and slams it shut. Brushes by Timmy and says, “Really fucking easy for you to say, Tim,” as he walks to his room and slams the door. 

It was just a sandwich, after all.

____

They hardly talk. 

They hardly talk for almost two days. Exist in the same apartment, floating silently around one another. Timmy feels awkward in the shared spaces, so he spends most of his time in his bedroom. When he does run into Armie, he tries to be polite. Make conversation like normal, but Armie is trite. Seems to be increasingly irritated every time Timmy opens his mouth. 

So, Timmy stops. Stops asking him how work was, if he wants to grab dinner, if he needs help with dishes. 

He doesn’t stop worrying though. Doesn’t stop searching the internet for possibilities, doesn’t stop trying to think of a solution. Doesn’t stop wishing Armie would just talk to him. Would just let him help. 

On Friday night, Timmy hears the sound of a fist hitting a mattress. A “god dammit,” and then the violent creaking of bed springs. Hears silence and realizes that it’s the first day in two years of knowing Armie that he hasn’t spoken a word to him. 

He sighs and says, “Sleep well, Armie,” a bit louder than he would normally. There’s a good chance he’s just imagining it or it’s a complete accident, but Timmy thinks he hears the thrum of knuckles against the wall.  
____

On Saturday, Timmy cleans out the fridge. Eats one of the mangoes he picked out for Armie and is licking the juice from his fingers when he knocks on Armie’s door. “I’m going grocery shopping. Do you need anything?”

There’s silence and, shit, maybe Armie was still sleeping. 

He knocks again, softly. “Armie?” It’s almost noon. He should be awake. 

Timmy eyes the doorknob. Before, he wouldn’t think anything of throwing the door open. But now? He knocks again. Slowly twists the knob and lets the door hang open an inch. Says, “I’m coming in, Armie.”

Eventually opens the door and looks inside. Armie’s bed is made and his dirty clothes are on the floor. Timmy takes a step inside. Armie had to have left really early. Timmy’s been up for hours. How did he not hear Armie shower? Not hear him leave? 

Where the fuck did Armie even go? He never does anything before noon on Saturdays. 

Timmy pulls his phone out and texts him. 

Timmy: _hey! going grocery shopping. Need anything? Wanna meet for lunch?_

Sends it and gives Armie’s clothes one last look before backing out of the room. 

____

Timmy is in the produce section when his phone vibrates. He ties the bag of peaches . Tosses them in the cart and then pulls out his phone, glad Armie responded before he got too far into the store. 

Except it’s not Armie. 

Nick: _Hey! It’s Nick!_  
Nick: _So, Armie showed up early this morning and wanted brunch and he maybe got a bit drunk at the Bloody Mary bar. I’m hanging out with him at your place but will you be back soon?_  
Nick: _No rush! Just wondering!_

Timmy sighs. 

Timmy: _just shopping i’ll be home in less than an hour._  
Timmy: _ask armie if he needs anything please_

He pushes his cart to the vegetable section and grabs some cucumbers and a bag of mixed greens. 

Nick: _Well! He’s sure in a good mood._  
Nick: _He said, “Yeah, have him pick up some bitch pills so he stops being a little bitch.”_  
Nick: _He is VERY drunk I’m sorry._

Timmy almost laughs. 

Timmy: _i might deserve that. tell him i’ll grab him some fruit._

He grabs some carrots and stares at the eggplant. His mom used to make lasagna with eggplant instead of noodles and he wonders if he could trick Armie into eating it. Armie doesn’t get enough vegetables. Or fruits. Or things that didn’t used to have legs. 

Nick: _”Fuck his fucking fruit wait tell him to get me some fruit snacks.”_

At that, Timmy does laugh.  
____

Timmy fumbles to open the door, his arms weighted down by groceries and a pack of toilet paper. He managed to get everything in one trip, but by the third floor he really missed Armie’s help. 

Nick is there almost immediately, taking the toilet paper and a few bags. “Timmy, hey,” he whispers. “I talked Armie into napping, so he’s in his room.”

They walk into the kitchen and set the bags down and Nick leans against the counter. Says, “So, what did you do to piss Armie off?” He doesn’t say it aggressively, but it comes across with a big brother tone. 

Timmy shrugs and starts putting items in the freezer. “I tried to help him with a problem and he got mad about it.”

“A problem? Like--”

“He’s made it very clear that it’s his problem, not mine,” he says because he doesn’t want to tell Nick. If Armie hasn’t told him, he doesn’t want him to know.

Nick hums. “He’s okay though, right?”

Timmy nods and tosses the eggplant into the refrigerator drawer. Slams it shut. “He’ll be fine.” 

Nick nods. Narrows his eyes. “Because you’d tell me if Armie was in trouble, right? I trust you with him, Timmy.” 

Timmy rolls his eyes. “He’s not my--”

“Timmy,” Nick says slowly. Reaches out and grips his shoulder. Points at Armie’s bedroom. “That is my best friend. My brother. And I trust you with him.” 

This feels like a, ‘You break his heart, I break your dick,’ talk, so Timmy playfully slaps Nick’s cheek. “I’ll have him home before midnight,” he jokes. “Seriously, Nick, it was just a misunderstanding. I’ll try to talk to him tonight, okay?”

Nick playfully slaps Timmy back, but his hand is a bit harder. “Good. Make sure he drinks a lot of water today, okay? Do you need help, or--”

“No,” Timmy shakes his head and backs away. Rubs his cheek and says, “I’ll text you when he wakes up.”  
____

Armie wakes up an hour later and grunts at Timmy as he passes by him to get to the kitchen. Grabs a beer and--

“Hey, Nick was a bit worried about--”

Armie glares at him. Opens the beer on the edge of the counter and says, “Oh, did you tell him, too?”

“Armie, I didn’t say anything to him, he’s just--”

“Well, don’t fucking tell him anything, Timmy.”

Timmy sighs and walks into the kitchen. “Armie, I’m not going to tell anyone. I wouldn’t just _tell_ people, jesus do you really think that--”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Armie rolls his eyes and then points at Timmy’s laptop in the living room. “Would never even cross your mind.”

Timmy rolls his eyes. “That’s different and you know it.”

“How? Because the internet doesn’t know that you’re roommates with a freak? That you can anonymously--”

“You’re not a freak, Armie.” 

Armie takes a sip of beer and swallows. Licks his lips. “I have a fucking--”

Timmy steps forward and grabs Armie’s bicep. Looks him in the eye and says, “You’re not a freak, Armie.”

Armie licks his lips and breaks his eye contact with Timmy. Stares over his shoulder. 

Timmy squeezes his bicep and says, “No one sees you differently at all, okay?” Armie bites his lip and seems like he’s about to disagree, so Timmy adds, “Not Nick, not me.”

Armie blinks and says, “Do you want this?” and angles the neck of his beer at Timmy, who takes it. Nods.  
____

It’s almost midnight and Timmy is sprawled on the couch, trying to find something to watch on Netflix when Armie’s door creaks open. He looks up to see Armie hovering in the door frame wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that Timmy wants to bury his face in. “Timmy, I--” Armie starts. He’s not standing like, _Armie_. Isn’t taking up space because it’s there, because it’s his. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Timmy, I need your help,” he says and walks closer. Stands next to the couch. 

“Anything,” Timmy admits, and he’s prepared for Armie to talk. For Armie to tell him he needs help figuring this out, that he doesn’t know where to turn, that he doesn’t even know _who_ to go to. 

What he isn’t prepared for is Armie shoving his sweatpants down. Stepping out of them to reveal simple grey panties. Simple grey panties that are oh so fucking complicated because Armie is _Armie_ and they barely hold his ass cheeks in. Complicated because they look so nice next to his soft, soft, soft t-shirt and hairy fucking thighs. 

Complicated because Timmy can see the dampness in the crotch of Armie’s panties. See the dark hue created by his wet heat and _fuck_ he wants to put his mouth there. Wants to absorb Armie like the cotton has absorbed his wetness. Wants to suck it out and take it, taste it. Wants to swallow every bit of Armie that he’s allowed. 

He isn’t prepared for Armie to step out of his sweatpants and move to straddle Timmy on the couch. To put his hands on the arm of the couch, bracketing Timmy’s head. To look down at him and say, “I can’t get off.” 

Timmy isn’t prepared, so he just looks up at Armie and says, “Oh.”

Armie rolls his eyes and reaches for Timmy’s hand. Uses his long digits like a claw, surrounding Timmy’s wrist with his pinky and thumb, guiding his middle fingers with his own. Directing them to the dampness of his panties. 

Pressing his fingers against the slick cotton that is leaking with Armie’s need. 

“I--” he swallows and looks away. “I know you’re good. I hear the girls you bring home and--”

“Armie,” Timmy hesitates. Can’t help himself. Can’t help himself from letting his middle and index finger slide against the slick cotton, from seeking out his clit and letting his fingers circle the nub once, twice, before sliding down to his hole. Feeling how his panties go from damp to fucking dripping and, “_Armie_,” he whispers, because Timmy can feel he needs release, that he actually needs Timmy’s help. 

“Please,” Armie says, and he grinds down against Timmy’s fingers. “I’ve tried, I just can’t,” he explains. Bucks when Timmy’s thumb toys with the seam pressing against his inner thigh. “Timmy, I just. Please, I need to come.” 

He’s so fucking desperate and no wonder he’s been an absolute asshole the last few days. Armie, who jerks off at least once a day (file this under “Facts Timmy knows about Armie that will live in his mind the rest of his life.”) hasn’t come in days and he doesn’t know how and _fuck_ how is this Timmy’s life?

“Armie,” Timmy says, and he’s getting redundant, he knows. But it’s hard to think with just thin cotton between his fingers and Armie’s wet hole. He thinks about slipping the cotton aside and pressing his fingers in. Letting them sink into Armie’s warmth. Letting them press against places Timmy doesn’t know exist, but he wants to feel. Wants to learn how they make Armie’s back arch, his toes curl. Want to learn _how_ to make Armie’s back arch, his toes curl. 

God, he wants to lay him out and press his lips to the dampest part of his panties. Wants to suck them into his mouth and inhale his scent. Wants to feel the friction of cotton grinding against his tongue. 

But, no. 

No, no, no. 

Armie will hate him in the morning. 

“Armie,” he starts. Dares letting his fingers run against the inseam of his panties. “I really shouldn’t--”

“Yeah, you fucking should,” Armie hisses when Timmy’s fingers slip under the elastic.

They slip under elastic and _fuck_ Armie is so god damn wet that Timmy’s fingers immediately slip against his lips, his clit. Fuck, he’s slick, ready. It would be so easy to slide his fingers in, curl them inside Armie. So easy to slowly ease them in and out while circling his clit with his thumb and--

“No,” Timmy insists. Shakes his head and looks up at Armie, whose eyes are lidded, lips parted like he’s about to start begging. That betrayed look seems to be starting to wash over him and Timmy swallows and sits up. His face is dangerously close to Armie’s and he says, “Just, try doing it like this,” and he can feel Armie’s relieved exhale against his lips when he presses firm finger tips against his clit and and moves them in a slow circle. “Don’t be too rough and take your time,” he whispers and he’s way too close to Armie right now. Way too close because Armie’s eyes are closing as his mouth falls open, a low moan pushing between their lips and, fuck, was that Armie or him?

“Yes, Timmy,” Armie whispers and it’s too much. 

It’s too much because Timmy wants to make Armie say things that would make him blush. Wants to hear his name being chanted by Armie’s voice, hoarse from moaning and begging and pleading for Timmy to not stop, don’t stop, yes Timmy, baby, like that, oh fuck you’re so good to me. 

It’s too much because he wants to be so good to him. 

“I can’t,” Timmy whispers and slowly pulls his hand away, the dampness on his fingers suddenly cold. “Just try that and, like, I don’t-”

Armie’s hips give a frustrated stutter and there’s no way he can’t feel Timmy’s cock pressing against him. “Timmy, why can’t you just--”

“Because I want to do this for real and you just want to get off,” Timmy says, pushing at Armie’s chest, but he doesn’t budge. Just stares at him like he’s being cruel. “That’s not fair,” Timmy says and, at that, Armie falls back with one final shove and Timmy is able to stand up and go to his room, leaving Armie trying to pull his sweatpants back on. 

_____

Timmy can’t sleep, so he’s wide awake when he hears the first moan. When he hears Armie gasp, “Oh shit,” like he’s finally figured out the solution. 

“Oh fuck me,” Timmy says. He’s been silently willing his erection away, but by the time there’s another breathy moan, this time slightly higher in pitch, his cock is hard again and he knows he’s not going to be good. Knows he’s going to jerk off listening to Armie touch himself in the other room, imagining if Armie’s just following Timmy’s instructions or if he’s pressing his fingers inside himself, too. 

Oh, God, what if he’s on his knees, rocking his hips against his fingers, fucking himself on them while he lets his thumb tease his clit and--

Timmy wipes his mouth and shakes his head. Tells himself, no, no, no you shouldn’t listen or think or--

“Fuck me,” Timmy whispers against his fingers. His fingers that were slick with Armie not long ago. That now smell musky and salty and so fucking sweet and, “I’m fucking sick,” he whispers as he slips them into his mouth. As he pushes his boxers down and starts jerking off as his tongue searches for any trace of Armie on his knuckles, his fingertips. 

As he listens to Armie’s moans getting more frantic, imagines Armie’s back arching off the mattress as he gets close, so close, wants to send Armie a note that just says _ keep doing exactly that, you’ll get there, you can do this, you’re going to make yourself come so hard and then you’re going to do it again, and again until you’re too tired to come anymore [and if I was there, I’d make you come one more time then, just once more until you’re sobbing and begging for me to stop, having to push me away because I’m always wanting more, more, more] going to make your sheets so fucking wet and when I do laundry tomorrow, I’m going to see the stain and know and I am never going to stop thinking about your body, about you._

And then, there’s a beat of silence and Timmy knows this moment, has seen it countless times, loves this fucking moment when Armie’s body will be rigid, when his stomach is quivering, when his toes are curling and he’s still for a moment before, “Oh shit, oh God, oh fucking hell, fuck me, Timmy, fuck me,” and this is just not fucking _fair_ and Timmy is coming on his hand, biting his fingers to stop from shouting out, from saying Armie’s name and letting him know, _I heard you, I heard you, I heard you._

Thankfully, Armie doesn’t seem to know that he can do that again and again. That he could torture Timmy all night. The apartment is silent and Timmy releases his fingers from his mouth. Replaces them with his other hand, licking himself clean. Remembering how he used to do this and imagine it being Armie’s come that he was eating and _jesus_ why is he like this? 

Timmy wipes his hand on his sheet. Tucks it under his pillow and closes his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

In the morning, Timmy can’t decide if Armie’s taste is still on his lips or if it’s just another part of Armie that he’s catalogued in his brain. Something he can recall at will like the softness of Armie’s t-shirts under his fingers or the way he smells after a shower. 

He can’t decide, and as much as he’d like the taste--imaginary or not--to linger, he gets up to brush his teeth and wash away the evidence. Evidence that he used Armie’s body to get off again--

(And what the _fuck_ is wrong with him? The other night was bad enough when he just imagined Armie’s body. But last night? Last night was even worse. Last night was a step further and he is not going to let it happen again. 

Hell, he has lived with Armie for two years and of course he’s thought about sucking his dick or fucking but he’s never actually gotten off to it. Because that’s not what roommates do. They don’t use the other’s body to get off without their permission, especially when their body is suddenly not their own.

Timmy really is the worst roommate.)

\--and maybe even that he heard Armie. 

God, he heard him. Timmy’s cock twitches remembering the way Armie had gasped, ‘Fuck me, Timmy, fuck me,’ and Timmy can’t help but think about how it would feel to kneel between Armie’s legs and tease his wet lips with the head of his cock, watching Armie’s back arch when he rubs against his clit, the soft touch finally too much for Armie who starts to plead--

“Nope,” Timmy whispers as he opens up his bedroom door and starts for the bathroom. Shakes his head and tells himself (and his cock) “No, nope, no--ope.” He lets the final sound pluck off his lips and then runs straight into Armie as he exits the bathroom. 

“Nope?” Armie asks, and Timmy takes a step back and idly moves a hand to cover his crotch. Swallows and--

(F-_uck_ Armie looks good and Timmy’s cock twitches again. His skin is slightly pink from the shower and his hair is damp and he smells so fucking good. Like pine and linen and something in Timmy’s brain is broken because he just told himself ‘no’ but he’s already thinking about how, right now, he could put his body on Armie’s and maybe, just maybe, Armie’s skin would absorb some of Timmy. How he could press a kiss to Armie’s neck and be able to take the Armie that is clean and mix it with the desperate taste of Armie that’s lingering on his tongue and--

_God, can you just stop? Can you stop. Stop._)

\--”What?” Timmy asks. 

“You were saying, ‘Nope, nope,” Armie says, his cheeks seeming to grow a deeper pink as he takes a step back. Leaves the doorway to the bathroom free for Timmy to escape into. “I was just wonder--”

“--I was just thinking out loud and--”

“About what?” Armie asks. His eyes dart from Timmy’s, then away. Timmy’s, then away like he can’t stand to make that sort of contact for more than a millisecond. 

Briefly, Timmy thinks he should just tell him. Should just say, ‘Armie, I was thinking about getting you nice and wet with my mouth, maybe using my fingers to get you off once or twice, and then teasing you with my cock a bit before sinking inside of you. Fucking you nice and slow for a bit, nice and slow so you can feel every inch of me and--’

(_And then what? What were you going to say, Timmy? Were you going to tell him you wanted to fuck him like you do the girls you bring home? The ones he’s heard? Were you going to show him how, if none of this had happened, you’d want him to fuck you? How you’d want him to sink into you with that thick cock, let you get used to it, let you feel every inch of him and then pound into you? Want him to flip you on your stomach and hold your hips up, the rest of your body too blissed out to even care as he fucked you?_

_Or, no, do you want to show him how, if none of this had happened, you’d take his ass the first time? Nice and slow, whispering encouragement in his ear. Telling him how good he feels, how we’re almost there, so close, you’re taking it so well, you look so hot, fuck, so beautiful, that’s it, yeah, that’s it just breathe and tell me when you’re ready, when you--_

_[Stop this.]_

Briefly, Timmy thinks he should tell Armie, just to see what he’d say.)

“Nothi--”

“Listen, about last night,” Armie says and his eyes finally focus on Timmy’s and Timmy wants to look away, but he can’t. Not when Armie wants to talk, when he wants to talk to Timmy, when he wants to talk to Timmy about last night. 

Timmy licks his lips and sucks in a breath. Knows it’s ridiculous but is so embarrassed at the idea of Armie smelling himself on Timmy’s breath--

(And holy shit what if Armie tasted _himself_? What if he’d rode his fingers and then, curious, brought them to his lips and--)

“I’m sorry,” Armie rushes. Reaches out like he’s about to touch Timmy’s elbow, then jerks his hand back. “I mean, I put you in a position I shouldn’t have and I’m sorry. I just--”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Timmy says. Takes a step towards the bathroom and is glad Armie seems to be focused on Timmy’s face right now. “I mean, nothing happened, really. I just--”

“--I mean I asked for your help and--” Armie raises his eyebrows and his cheeks are full on crimson now. “You did.” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing like the word is actually hovering in his throat before he whispers, “Twice.” 

Timmy’s mouth falls open and--

(How the _fuck_ did he miss the second time? Oh, God, did Armie moan his name again? This time hidden in a pillow, on his knees, fingers furious between his thighs? If he’d just listened a little closer, could he have heard the oversensitive shudders, the gasp of relief?)

\--”Oh,” Timmy says. “I mean that’s. That’s.”

Armie back up again and rolls his eyes. Rubs the soft skin next to his eye. “Shit, I’m sorry, I must have--”

“No, no,” Timmy points at the bathroom, then his mouth. “I just. I need to brush my teeth?”

“Yeah! No, right,” Armie nods. Smooths a hand over the thigh of his sweatpants. They’re one of the pairs he bought at Target and, just like Timmy imagined, the elastic that’s supposed to be around his ankles is revealing inches of skin. “I’m just going,” he tosses his thumb over his shoulder, “to make coffee? You want some?” 

But he’s already walking away before Timmy can get out a quick, “Yeah.”

_____

Timmy brushes his teeth. Spits and rinses, then brushes again, all the while thinking, _Twice. You did, twice. I asked for your help and you did. Twice._

He spits again and rinses, his mouth fresh. Realizes the taste of Armie had been a phantom one, a memory he’s holding onto because it’s still there, fresh in his mind, his tongue. He rolls his tongue in his mouth once, twice. Blinks at his reflection and thinks how, yesterday, Armie could barely talk about things and then, well, last night. 

And now, he’s telling Timmy that he came twice. Whispering the information, but letting Timmy know, which makes Timmy feel even worse for using images of Armie to get off. Because he can’t tell Armie that. Can’t tell Armie that he thought of his thighs, his labia. Can’t tell him he tasted him, especially now that Armie has told him. That he has revealed that information. Has come clean. 

But, wait, is he letting Timmy know or is he admitting it? Is he admitting that, last night, he came with Timmy’s name on his tongue? Is there a chance that he feels almost as bad as Timmy does right now? 

(And could that be why, the second time, Timmy didn’t hear him? Did he stifle his moans with his palm, his pillow? Hold everything in, as shame started to trickle into his mind and his body betrayed him again, even as he sought release once more, just once more.)

Timmy wonders if Armie slept or if he tossed and turned, feeling bad about what he’d done, what he’d thought, all the while having to deal with the bigger picture. 

Timmy had slept well. Of course he had. 

He puts his toothbrush back and takes a shower. 

_____

By the time Timmy’s clean and dressed--

(And maybe, yeah, he used Armie’s body wash. Used it to wash under his arms, his stomach, his balls. Scrubbed his thighs and even the bottom of his feet, balancing precariously as he did so. Scrubbed every inch of his body with Armie’s scent, loving the way it filled the bathroom, so every breath Timmy took inhaled a bit of steamy warmth and _Armie_. 

And, every inch he scrubbed gave him another minute to think about how he would come clean to Armie.

[Timmy was a bit disappointed once he dried off and smelled his arm that the smell didn’t seem to cling to him like it did Armie. He’d hoped to be surrounded in Armie all day, but his skin smells clean, but not like pine and linen. Maybe that’s just how Armie smells. Or maybe it’s the body hair. 

_Fuck, now is not the time to think about Armie’s body hair._])

\--Armie’s gone. 

There’s a mug of coffee sitting on the counter and a note on the back of a receipt. 

_Went to Nick’s. Back later._

Timmy wrinkles his nose at the note, but takes a sip of the coffee. Says out loud to no one, just to see how it feels on his lips, “I just thought you should know that I thought about you twice now.” 

Well, shit. Now that he says it out loud it doesn’t sound as good as it did in his head. ‘I thought about you twice now?’ When in reality, he thinks about Armie all the time. Okay, maybe not all the time but a lot of it. Thinks about the way he can’t help but talk with his hands, the animated way he tells stories. The intense way he listens when people talk to him and the infectious way he smiles when he’s happy. 

No, Timmy thinks about Armie more than twice in an hour, let alone an abstract twice. Let alone just at night with his hand on his cock and images of Armie’s body, his hands, his mouth, his shoulders rolling through Timmy’s mind. 

Definitely more than twice. 

_____

Timmy doesn’t want to leave the apartment--

(Because what if Armie comes back? What if he comes back and he still hasn't told Nick [Selfishly, Timmy hope he doesn’t tell Nick. Likes having something private and personal that’s just theirs. Knows Armie shares everything with Nick and he just wants _this_ to be something Armie trusts him with and no one else.] and he needs someone to talk to? What if he just needs someone to sit in silence with on the couch while they watch a movie? What if he just needs Timmy?)

\--so he does laundry. Grabs the basket from the bottom of the linen closet and fills it with clothes from his hamper. Grabs the towels from the bathroom and tosses them in as well. Cradles the basket on his hip as he goes to the kitchen to grab the hand towels. Surveys the living room and sees one of Armie’s socks peeking out from under the couch. 

Adds that to the mix, but then realizes it would be silly to give Armie one clean sock, so he decides to do Armie’s laundry as well. 

Timmy turns on the light to Armie’s room and drops the laundry basket next to his bed. It’s unmade and Timmy knows he shouldn’t, but he runs his hand over the center of the mattress. The sheets are blue and soft and Timmy can’t help himself from following the course of his hand and allowing himself to lay face down on the mattress, the top of his head just nudging the pillows. Relaxes for a moment and thinks about how he could scoot his way down these sheets. Could press his face right into the sheets and move until he finds where they smell as sweet as Timmy’s fingers did last night. 

And he starts to do just that. Lets his legs tangle in the blankets as he moves down and imagines how, if Armie was here right now, he would be somewhere between Armie’s sternum and his belly button. Sinking into the concave part of his body that narrows to his waist and he slides further down the mattress and imagines how his breath, his tongue, might tickle the sensitive skin and Armie might writhe away from him a little and Timmy would have to pin his hips down and now he’s moved a few inches further and--

Timmy turns his face so his cheek presses against the sheet. Closes his eyes. Not a third time. He can feel his cock filling out in his jeans and he can’t do this again. Not when he hasn’t even admitted the first two times to Armie. Not when, this time, it would be in Armie’s personal space. He shouldn’t do this. 

He licks his lips and starts to scoot off the bed, his legs tangling in the blankets. Rolls into a sitting position and pulls the blankets away. Stands up and tries to make the blankets look how they were when he walked in. Tosses and fluffs them about and then--

(Fuck, this is exactly why Timmy shouldn’t be in here. Why he shouldn’t try and do nice things--

[_Nice things? Nice things like crawling into Armie’s bed and trying to sniff his sheets like a fucking weirdo? Getting hard imagining his body underneath yours?_]

\--like Armie’s laundry. Or trying to help him figure out what’s going on with his body. He should just let Armie be his roommate and maybe be his friend on occasion and bitch at him for never taking the garbage out.)

\--sees a hint of grey and immediately knows it’s Armie’s panties. Knows they’re the panties he wore last night, the grey ones that were literally soaking with his desperation, the ones that Timmy touched. That he slipped his fingers under. 

The ones that he wants to touch again, that he wants to pull down. No, wait, no. The ones that he wants Armie to push down. Down to his knees before letting Timmy take them the rest of the way. Letting Timmy pull them off one foot, then the other and toss behind him before pushing Armie’s legs apart and--

_Stop._

Timmy reaches out and pulls the panties from the mess of blankets. 

Glances at the laundry basket and knows he should put them in there. That he should add them to his clothes, to the towels. That he should empty the rest of Armie’s hamper into the basket and then go down the hall to start a load of laundry. 

He runs the elastic waistband between his fingers, then wads them into a ball. Shoves them in his pocket and tells himself this is fine, this is fine, this is totally normal. 

He empties Armie’s hamper into the basket and then goes down the hall to start a load of laundry. 

_____

Except it’s _not_ totally normal, is it? It’s not normal to be _this_ into Armie’s body, is it? It’s not normal to fantasize about him every chance he gets. Not normal for Timmy to jerk off thinking about Armie letting him touch him, letting himself be touched. Not normal to think about Armie using Timmy’s face, his fingers, his cock to get off. 

It’s not _normal_ to somehow think about Armie even more than he did before, back when Armie had a dick, is it? 

Or is it normal? Is it normal to think about how he wants to make Armie feel good? Before, he’d think about doing literally everything with Armie. He never got off to it (but he could have, god, he could have), but he thought about how Armie’s cock would feel in his throat, his ass. How he’d like to watch Armie’s mouth open around his own cock, how he’d like to finger him open and show him how good it feels to come with a dick inside you. 

But now, he just thinks about getting Armie off. About him getting off. 

Thinks about Armie feeling comfortable with himself and his body enough to let go. 

And maybe, just maybe it’s not the weirdest thing in the world.


	4. Chapter 4

Timmy puts Armie’s grey panties under his pillow. 

Well, first, he put them in his desk drawer. But then he laid down while he waited for the laundry to finish its first cycle and as he scrolled through his phone, he realized he was barely recognizing Instagrams, not reading tweets. He was aimlessly checking the weather but not sure if he should wear a sweatshirt or shorts tomorrow. Realized he couldn’t stop thinking about the panties in the drawer, so he’d gotten up and balled them in his fist, somehow worried that Armie might sneak in and see him holding them. 

(But, really, how bad would that be? For Armie to see just how into him Timmy was? For him to see Timmy in possession of his clothing that, last night, had been soaked with his wetness, that Timmy had let his fingers slip under, that Timmy had snuck right under to rub his clit and show Armie how to make himself come. 

Twice, apparently.) 

He’d transfers them under his pillow, sneaking his fist under the fabric and sliding it between his thumb and forefinger for a few seconds before letting it go. Before resting his head on the pillow and checking his phone to see how much longer until the laundry was done. 

Fifteen minutes, so he goes to the kitchen. Peels an orange and watches the timer count down while he eats it, slice by slice. 

_____

Timmy is folding laundry when Armie gets back. Separating his things onto the dining table, Armie’s onto the couch. A stack of shirts, pants, underwear, towels for each. Socks are left in the basket because Armie doesn’t mind folding socks while Timmy hates it. 

(“You’d hate it less if you just got one type of sock,” Armie’d said the first time he took over sock folding duties, even though he didn’t seem phased by Timmy’s assortment of colorful socks.

“But aren’t you ever in the mood for a sock that’s not boring?” Timmy had asked and Armie just laughed.)

He places a t-shirt on one of Armie’s piles and asks, “Hey, how was Nick’s?”

“You didn’t have to do my laundry,” Armie says. Walks over to the basket of clean clothes and instead of starting to help, he sifts through it, like he’s looking for something. Grabs one pair, two pairs of panties and then shoves them under his pile of boxers before turning back and grabbing a pair of Timmy’s sweatpants. Folding them and putting them in a pile. “It was fine,” he says quietly. “Just wanted to talk to him.” 

“Yeah? Was there something you needed to--,” Timmy stops because his throat feels dry and the last thing he wants is a coughing fit right now. Swallows and asks, “What did you need to talk to Nick about?” He suddenly wishes he’d put the television on, just for background noise, but his mind has been so loud today that he didn’t even think about it. 

Armie finds a matching pair of socks and balls them. Tosses them on the dining table for Timmy. “I said I wanted to, not needed to,” he corrects without answering, which makes Timmy roll his eyes. “I didn’t talk to him about, well, you know.” 

Timmy takes the last towel. Folds it and puts it in Armie’s pile. Perches on the arm of the couch and folds his arms. “Oh? Why not? I’m sure Nick would be--”

Armie’s cheeks flush as he searches for a pair of socks. “Because Nick doesn’t care about my--”

“--But he cares about you--”

“--and I don’t really feel like talking to him about that.” 

And Timmy knows he basically forced himself into this bizarre portion of Armie’s life when he barged into Armie’s bedroom, but Armie could have lied. Could have said, “You’re seeing shit.”

Could have just pretended nothing was wrong and Timmy would have, eventually, assumed the same. Maybe every now and then would wake up in the middle of the night and wonder, “Huh, I wonder if Armie got his dick back,” but eventually it would just feel like a dream and he probably would forget that it ever happened. Or didn’t happen, whichever narrative Armie chose. 

But he also knows that Armie is stubborn as shit and if he doesn’t want to talk to someone about something, he just won’t. Knowing that he hasn’t told Nick--that he _won’t_ tell Nick, gives Timmy the confidence to ask, “Armie, this morning, why did you tell me that I--that you,” Timmy closes his eyes and quickly blurts, “That-you-came-twice.”

Armie finds a pair and balls them up, clenches them in his fist and responds, “Why did you tell me last night that you wanted to do _that_ for real?”

And it’s not a lie, not even something feels the need to hide, not now, not with Armie asking, not having the memory of his slick want on his fingers, not with his panties under Timmy’s pillow, so he says, “Because I do. I did.” Rolls his eyes and admits, “I do. Because I really do, Armie.”

Armie’s jaw is tense and he tosses the socks at the couch. “That’s why I told you,” he says low, his words angled towards the carpet. Timmy watches as Armie picks up sock after sock, pairs slipping through his fingers and falling back to the basket. Watches as Armie licks his lips and closes his eyes and just feels the fabric and finally says, “Because I do, too,” he says and it sounds like the words get stuck in his throat. 

They get stuck in his throat and Timmy steps forward. Takes the mismatched socks from Armie’s hands and says, “Hey, hey, don’t do that.” Timmy shakes his head and presses Armie’s hands between his. “Don’t,” he whispers. 

Armie nods and and Timmy squeezes hands, then lets go of them. “Okay,” he assures him. “Okay,” he tells himself. Tries to keep his hands from shaking, to stop himself from pushing Armie down on the couch, wrecking the piles of clothes and pressing their lips together. Wants to feel Armie underneath him, on top of him--

(Oh _god_ he wants Armie’s weight on him. Pushing him down and holding him in place. Wants Armie on top of him, taking his pleasure, taking whatever he wants from Timmy, because Timmy wants him to have it, needs him to have it.)

\--wants to feel Armie next to him. But he has to wait. Wants Armie to make the first move. 

Instead, asks, “Is that what you went to talk to Nick about?” Armie nods, and Timmy continues, “What did he say?”

Armie laughs and runs a hand through his hair. Scratches the slight stubble on his cheeks. “He, ugh, basically said he knew since we were teenagers. Knew that I was, you know.” Grins at the floor and says, “Knew that I liked you when he helped me move in.” 

Hearing Armie say he likes him makes Timmy step forward. Makes him reach up and cup Armie’s cheek. Quickly assure him, “Hey, I like you, too, okay? I liked you that first day when you just came to see the apartment and you--”

And then Armie is leaning down and kissing Timmy. Quick, rushed, like he’s dared himself, like he just wanted to get it done, so Timmy slides his hand from Armie’s cheek to the back of his neck. Turns his head a little to break the kiss. Turns back to start again, restart everything, softly kissing Armie’s lips. Wrapping his arm around Armie’s waist and stroking his back and trying not to think about how this is the first time--probably, hopefully--Armie’s kissing a man. That Armie chose him, that Armie wants him. How Armie wants him enough to tell his best friend, to admit it to himself. How it’s a first of sorts and how it’s _their_ first and every nerve wracking thing that comes along with that.

Instead, focuses on the soft hum that Armie makes when Timmy kisses him again. The tickle as he exhales through his nose, the gentle way his lips relax against Timmy’s. The tentative way his lips part and he just waits for Timmy to take his mouth. To slide their tongues together and pull him closer, his hand firm on Armie’s neck. 

Focuses on how, after what seems to be everything and yet no time at all, Armie closes his lips over Timmy’s tongue and gives a soft suck, pulls back and whispers, “I wish I didn’t have this body right now.” 

“I like you no matter what body you have,” Timmy assures him. 

“Yeah, but--”

And Timmy silences Armie with a quick kiss and repeats, “No matter what body you have.” 

Armie takes a deep breath and Timmy can see that he doesn’t know what to say, what to do. Imagines his mind is flush with varying degrees of confusion, so Timmy says, “I’m going to put my clothes away, okay?” as he lets go of Armie, who nods. “Do you want help with yours?”

Armie shakes his head and reaches for his t-shirts. 

Timmy grabs a stack of towels and puts his socks on top. Carries the pile to his room and sets the towels on his dresser. Puts the socks in his top drawer, then turns to stare at his bed, his pillow. Thinks about Armie’s panties underneath the fabric and his cheeks burn when he thinks about what he wants to do to them. What he wants to do to Armie. 

It feels like a lot, like too much, because he can taste Armie’s tongue on his lips and he wants to taste more than that. He wants more than Armie’s lips, more than a simple kiss, but he knows this is new to Armie. That he can’t rush him, that he can’t rush this. Because he wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t care about Armie’s body (even though he likes every inch of it very much.) 

Until now, he hasn’t let himself think too much about it because he didn’t want to daydream about something that would never happen. But, he likes Armie. He likes how Armie is always nice in the mornings, even when he’s tired. How he reads instead of watching television when he has free time. How he over tips and waits too long to hold doors open for people and how he asks Timmy about his day, every day, and has questions about people Timmy works with whom Armie has never even _met_. 

And, for whatever reason, Armie likes him. 

Back in the living room, Timmy asks, “Should we order pizza?” while he watches Armie gather his clothes in his arms. Doesn’t wait for an answer, just pulls out his phone and Googles their regular place. “Half sausage, half cheese, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Armie says and he starts to walk to his bedroom. Stops when he gets near Timmy. Takes a step out of his way and leans down to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for not making this weird.” 

At that, Timmy blushes and nods. Orders their pizza and then puts the rest of his laundry away. 

_____

They eat their pizza at the dining table and after his first slice, Timmy nudges Armie’s calf with his toe. Looks up from his cheese pizza just as Armie flicks a piece of sausage onto Timmy’s half of the pizza. 

Timmy picks it up and puts it between his his lips. Sucks it into his mouth, then loudly chews with his mouth open. 

Armie laughs, “You’re so gross.” 

Before he can stop himself or think about what he’s saying, Timmy admits, “You have no idea.” He swallows the piece of pizza in his mouth and says, “I was just--”

“I know,” Armie says. Takes a bite of his pizza and looks up at Timmy. Blinks and nods his head towards their bedrooms. “Thin walls.” 

Timmy thinks about about all the people he’s brought home. The people he’s wished were Armie, that he’s brought home because they aren’t Armie at all. Thinks about how he’s fucked them, been fucked. How he’s never cared about what he says when they’re in his bed because it hasn’t really mattered, at least not to him. It’s just been sex with people he cared enough to make breakfast for in the morning, but not enough to go grocery shopping with. 

He quickly reaches for a piece of pizza and asks, “Should we watch a movie after this?” 

_____

They don’t pick out a movie, not really. Armie sprawls out on the couch and turns to his side. Flips through channels while Timmy washes their plates, puts the pizza box on the edge of the counter closest to the door so they remember to bring it out whenever they leave the apartment. 

By the time Timmy comes to stand near the couch, Armie has pressed play on some Adam Sandler movie that Timmy knows he’s seen but can’t remember which one it is, not off the top of his head. 

Not off the top of his head because Armie looks up at him and scoots forward. Makes room for Timmy between his body and the back of the couch and Timmy doesn’t need an invitation. He steps over Armie’s body, sinks into the couch. Licks his lips and wraps his arm around Armie’s waist and, fuck, it feels so natural. 

____

Timmy waits. 

He’d wait forever, wait until Armie’s comfortable (until things are back to how they used to be), until they’d done more than kiss over folded laundry. 

But halfway through the movie (it’s _Click_ and Timmy hasn’t seen it, but whatever,) Armie lets his fingers trace Timmy’s knuckles. Lets his fingers slip through his, then guides Timmy to touch his hip. 

Timmy kisses the back of Armie’s neck and whispers, “Armie, we don’t have t--”

“I want you to touch me,” Armie whispers back. “Last night--” he starts. Sighs and says, “Last night was--like, I wanted you. I didn’t just. Want that, I wanted you.” 

Timmy kisses his neck again and blinks. Likes that he’s so close his eyelashes catch on Armie’s hair when he opens his eyes. That all he can smell is Armie. 

He squeezes the side of Armie’s thigh, then moves his hand to the front. Spreads his hand along the expanse and says, “I wanted to.” 

“I want you to, now,” Armie says and the day has felt so long but rushed and, right now, Timmy is surprised at how dark the living room is. Their bodies lit by the television. 

Timmy exhales and wonders if his breath tickles the back of Armie’s neck. Says, “Armie, I don’t want you to think that this is just--”

“I don’t,” Armie breathes and then rolls forward a bit so Timmy’s hand slips across his ass. Says, “Please,” and Timmy’s not an idiot. He curves his palm against Armie’s ass. Gives it a soft squeeze and smiles when Armie’s face turns to his. When he can move his arm so it rests under Armie’s head. Pulls him in for an open kiss, their tongue meeting before lips, and Armie is so eager, his teeth bumping Timmy’s upper lip. He pulls back and Timmy’s thinks he might apologize, but fuck that.

He squeezes his ass and kisses him, hard, and hopes that Armie realizes that means he doesn’t have to ever apologize for wanting him. 

They kiss and Armie rolls further onto his belly and if this was a month from now, Timmy might move down the couch. Yank Armie’s sweatpants down and spread his cheeks. Lick against his hole until Armie’s pressing back onto Timmy’s face, but it’s not a month later, so he slips his hand up to the waistband of Armie’s sweatpants. 

Takes his insistent tongue as a go-ahead and lets his hand venture under Armie’s sweatpants. Feels the familiar texture of his panties and, this time, gets the reward of the elastic on Armie’s ass. The swell of his skin cut off by cotton and, “Fuck,” Timmy breathes against Armie’s lips. “Your ass is so good,” he says. Gives him a squeeze and then spreads his palm across Armie’s asscheek. “Armie, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” Timmy says, and he slides his hand up, down, up Armie’s ass cheek and then kisses him again. 

Moves his hand down and maybe, just maybe, finds the end of his panties (his panties, fuck, fuck,) and the press of his thighs. Groans when Armie spreads his legs a bit so Timmy doesn’t feel so bad about slipping his fingers against Armie’s inner leg. Letting his fingers move up and bump against his panties, against his wet panties and, “Armie,” he moans. 

“Timmy, please,” Armie whispers and Timmy’s fingertips are already damp with Armie’s need, so he slips them against the fabric. Loves how he can feel Armie’s ass against his wrist as he softly presses the length of his middle finger against Armie’s cunt. Lets it bend and fold once, twice, before focusing on his clit and rubbing the pad of his finger against him. “Timmy,” Armie whispers, than tilts his chin forward to kiss Timmy, who lets Armie take his mouth, to rut his tongue against his own, his teeth, the roof of his mouth as Timmy starts to circle his clit. Quickly at first then slow, slower. 

Stopping for a moment before tapping Armie softly, grinning against his lips when Armie jolts. Pulsing soft touches on him, then stopping to slide his finger against Armie’s clit, back to his hole. He’s not as wet as last night, but it’s promising. “You like having your pussy played with?” Timmy tries, hopes. “I could do this all night. Just touch this wet cunt and make you come from my fingers. You want that?” 

They’re so close that when Armie nods, he knocks his nose against Timmy’s and when he says, “Please.” Timmy can literally taste the sausage on his breath, and he toys with the edge of Armie’s underwear. Slips his finger under and runs the pad along the hem. Lets it snap back into place, then does it against, this time, using his thumb to hold the fabric up so his fingers can reach underneath. Dares a circle against Armie’s clit and breathes a sigh of relief when Armie makes this noise. 

He makes this _noise_ that is soft but hard, a moan but a plead, a gasp but a release. “Yeah?” he asks and does it again to the same result. Closes his mouth against Armie’s so he doesn’t say something stupid. Doesn’t say something stupid like, ‘You like when I touch your clit? When I rub against you and can you feel my cock on your thigh, baby? Can you feel how hard you’re making me right now, fuck, wanna sink into you and feel you on my cock, want to feel you wet for me,” but instead he slips his finger down and rolls his eyes back into his head when he feels how wet Armie’s hole is. 

How wet he is when Timmy presses just the pad of his middle finger inside. “Armie, _fuck_,” he says. Admits, pleads. Says, “I used to think about choking on that thick cock of yours, but knowing I can eat this pretty little pussy? Fuck, Armie. You’re perfect every way.” 

“Timmy,” Armie hisses and he spreads his thighs, his body trembling when Timmy presses against his clit again. Back arching when Timmy toys with his hole. When he circles his wetness, then pushes his middle finger in. Lets it settle, then thrusts it out, in, out, adds another finger as Armie’s thigh falls off the couch and he reaches for Timmy. 

Reaches for Timmy to hold him on the couch and thrusts back against his fingers, just as Timmy swipes his thumb over Armie’s clit. Swipes his thumb over Armie’s clit and says, “Oh, fuck, you want me to lick you, Armie? Want me to suck on that clit want me to--”

“No,” Armie shakes his head and he seems ashamed, but he also grinds back on Timmy’s fingers. “Not-- no,” Armie whispers. “Not tonight.”

Timmy slips his fingers out of Armie until just the tips are inside him. Says, “That’s fine, that’s so fine. Is this--”

“Yeah.”

“--Good, you feel so nice on my fingers, Armie,” he says as his thumb starts a firm circle on Armie’s clit. As he lets his fingers thrust in and out of Armie, as he realizes that Armie’s hips are fucking himself on TImmy’s fingers, are using his hand and all he really needs to do is give his clit some attention, give him what he wants and then Armie’s hips get frantic and--

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, please, Timmy, fuck, yeah I want, I want, I--”

“Armie, baby, take it. You are so fucking hot right now, want to fuck you, I just want you, I want you,” Timmy chants and keeps circling Armie’s clit, pressing his fingers deep inside him, keeps fucking him until Armie’s body is tense, until he’s making these fucking sounds and rocking against Timmy’s hand and he’s wet, so fucking wet and Timmy thinks about how he could slip a finger up to Armie’s ass. How it would just glide right in because his hand is so wet with Timmy’s come, he’s so fucking wet and he wants to, he wants, to but Armie is so close so he presses his fingers in as far as he can and kisses the back of Armie’s neck says, “So fucking hot, Armie, so pretty, ‘m so hard just thinking about you, about you,” and he cocks his hips so Armie can feel his hardness against the backs of his thighs as he works Armie’s clit, thumbs it until--

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck me, Timmy, fuck me, fuck,” and then he’s melting. 

Armie melts back against him and Timmy thinks about how good this would feel if Armie’s cock was in his mouth. How the pressure of him fucking into him would feel. He think about how good it would feel if Armie was fucking him. Collapsing on him. How good it would feel on a Sunday morning when Armie was tired and Timmy had made coffee and Armie wrapped his arms around Timmy’s neck and kissed his cheek. Said, “Thanks.”

Armie stills and Timmy can’t help himself. Works his fingers in and out of Armie. Says, “Want to make you love this again, want to make you come.”

And it’s not hard. Armie comes with a quiver and a shout. Again with a whimper, then pulls his hips away. Says, “I can,” and weakly reaches for Timmy’s hip. 

“No, no,” Timmy whispers and nips at Armie’s jaw. Pulls him close and loves that he smells like sweat and come. “I---no. Not tonight,” he says, even though he’s hard. He’s so hard and he pulls his hips back. 

Slips his fingers from Armie’s body and lets them rest on Armie’s hip. Pulls at him, and is so fucking glad when Armie turns to him and slides his thigh between Timmy’s legs. 

When he puts his lips on Timmy’s neck and mouths, “I like you,” against his skin.

____

They finish the movie, but they don’t watch. They kiss, but they don’t make out. It’s nice, and Timmy loves it. He loves the way Armie’s body feels against his, the way they fold together. 

They fold together, but Timmy keeps his hips back. Doesn’t want Armie to rush anything, to feel like he has to. 

Armie falls asleep and Timmy slips his arm from underneath Armie’s head. Goes to Armie’s bedroom and pulls his quilt from the bed. Tucks it around Armier’s body and kisses his cheek. 

They finish the movie but Timmy goes back to his room. Flops down on his bed and thinks about Armie’s body, his warmth. Thinks about the panties under his pillow and pulls the out. Toys with the elastic for a moment. Swallows, then pushes his pants, his underwear off his hips. 

Slips the waistband of Armie’s panties around his cock. Doubles it, then wraps his fist around the cloths, Presses it against his cock and starts to stroke himself. 

Strokes his cock until he comes, spilling over his fist, the fabric. Himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY! thank you so much to everyone who reached out to me recently. everything is fine, everything is good. i'm back on tumblr. apologies for just disappearing for a bit there. everyone's kind words were lovely and appreciated. <3

Armie wakes on the couch with his own hand tucked under his shirt; it’s too big and his fingers feel clumsy as they stroke his lower belly, flick the waistband of his underwear. He rolls onto his back, expecting to feel the resistance of a body, the comfortable squish of two grown men on a couch that’s too small, but instead finds space. The back of the couch. He blinks over at the kitchen, to the hallway. 

The apartment is silent and he sighs. Wishing he heard the shower or a coffee pot or hangers being shoved side to side because Timmy can never pick an outfit on the first try. Any reason why Timmy isn’t here, tucked next to him. Why he isn’t waking up to the semi-hard press of Timmy’s cock against his own thigh, his ass. Any reason why he isn’t listening to Timmy whisper, “Sorry, sorry,” as he backs his hips away from Armie only to have Armie press back against him. 

But there isn’t a reason and the apartment is silent and Armie takes a deep breath. Exhales and dips his fingers below the waistband of his underwear, feels where he’s still sticky, slightly wet from last night. He’d been too comfortable to clean up. Too worried that if he left, Timmy would, too, and this might be something they ignored in the morning. 

He pulls his hand back and sits up. His comforter falls to his waist and he realizes Timmy must have tucked him in last night. Which is sweet, except then he just left. He’d much rather Timmy had woken him up, had brought him to one of their beds. Armie can’t remember any of the people Timmy brings home sneaking out in the middle of the night. No, they’re there all night, in Timmy’s bed. Present at breakfast or at least a cup of coffee. They get a kiss at the door and Timmy saying, “Yeah, text me, okay?” 

And then he’d always turn around and avoid Armie’s eyes and Armie could never figure out if it was because Timmy had no intention of texting any of them back or because he knew Armie had likely heard everything from the night before. 

Armie drags his comforter to his bedroom and tosses it on his bed. Grabs a towel and heads to the bathroom; peaks in Timmy’s room. The bed’s unmade but Timmy is gone. 

He showers and tries not to think about it. The thought crossed his mind last night--not during, but after. After, when Timmy didn’t want Armie to touch him--and he kept telling himself no, that’s not it. Timmy is here, Timmy is holding Armie and kissing the back of his neck and if he thought Armie was weird, if he wasn’t into this whole situation, if he wasn’t just doing this to make Armie feel better--

(And _why_ had he gone to Timmy the other night like that? Why did he have to be so pathetic and desperate? It’s not like he’s fifteen fucking years old he can go a couple of days without jerking off or whatever. Fingering himself. Why did he have to be so fucking needy and make Timmy think he had to touch him? 

Of course Timmy wouldn’t want to touch him, not like that, not right now. Not when, supposedly, Timmy’s Armie related thoughts have been about choking on his cock, not fingering him and _God_ why did he have to make it so weird?

And then the next morning. Telling him he’d gotten off twice, knowing very fucking well that Timmy had to have heard him because he hears _everything_ that happens in Timmy’s room. Fuck.)

\--because he’s a good friend. Tries not to think about how Timmy talks to the other people he messes around with, how he just says the filthiest things and Armie tries not to, he really fucking does, but he’s gotten off more than once listening to Timmy fuck both men and women, gotten off thinking how good it would be to switch places with anyone just to be with Timmy. 

And it’s not just _that_, it’s what he hears afterwards, too. Timmy asking if he can get them a washcloth, a glass of water. If it’s too cold, too warm, if they want another pillow. Do they need him to set an alarm what do they want for breakfast how do they like their coffee what do they have to do tomorrow. 

But with Armie, Timmy was restrained. Dirty and sweet but not filthy and kind and. 

Fuck, he wasn’t normal with Armie.

Armie turns the water on as hot as he can stand and scrubs, scrubs, scrubs. Uses Timmy’s bar soap, even if he teases him relentlessly about using bar soap that’s marketed towards middle aged women with dry skin. 

Finds himself disappointed when, after he dries off, he doesn’t smell like Timmy. Just another version of himself. 

_____

Armie goes to Nick’s and lets himself in. Nick’s still asleep, so Armie makes coffee and sprawls on the couch. Tries looking at his phone, but keeps checking his messages for a text from Timmy. Anything. He had a family emergency, an appointment he forgot about, a work thing, a brunch, _anything_, even a lie. 

Instead puts his phone in his pocket and stares at the pictures on Nick’s walls. Mainly pictures of beaches, but a few of friends. He sips his coffee and when Nick wakes up and walks into the living room, he doesn’t even startle when he sees Armie. Says, “Is there more coffee?”

Scratches his bare chest and pads to the kitchen. Grabs a mug and pours himself a cup. He’s just in his boxers and when he turns to face Armie, Armie is _aware_ that Nick is attractive. That his lean length and broad shoulders are something Armie has noticed on other men, something he’s wanted to be under, on top of, next to. But it’s different with Nick and it’s been different when he sees those qualities in other men. Different since he met Timmy and now he just aches for sharp lines and soft bellies. Over the top laughs and exaggerated body language. 

“I made it a bit strong,” Armie says and he tries to smile. Can tell Nick is reading his face as he sips his coffee. 

Nick calmly sets his coffee down and cracks his neck. “You know I’m going to have to kill him now, right?” And his words are light hearted but Armie knows there’s some truth behind them. Some desire to make this right in a way that seems fitting to Nick. 

“It’s not his fault,” Armie insists. “He’s just. I don’t know, he’s not as into me as I thought, I guess, I don’t know.” 

Nick pulls an outraged face and says, “What are you _talking_ about? He’s obviously been in love with you since--”

“Okay, but he maybe isn’t anymore, I don’t--”

“What? Like what could possibly change in a few days’ time?” Nick moves to the couch and sits next to Armie. Tucks his ankle under his thigh. “What happened? Did you tell him?” Armie nods, so Nick prods. “Okay and then what?”

“You don’t want to know,” Armie says, because he and Nick have a very specific set of rules when it comes to talking about sex. And, God, Nick doesn’t even know how weird this all is, doesn’t know that the first time Armie was with a man, he really couldn’t even do _anything_ he had fantasized about for so long. 

“Wait, wait, you had _sex_ with him?”

Armie sighs and shakes his head. “I mean, a little but not really.”

“So, like, handjobs.” 

“No,” Armie says before he can think. Tries to walk it back. “I mean, like, yeah it was hand stuff and. Just, it’s not---”

“Okay, so let me get this straight,’ Nick says, and he sounds too calm. “You let this asshole finger you or whatever which, by the way, seems like a pretty fucking ballsy thing to do with someone who just came out and admitted they have a crush on you, but whatever, whatever, not the point--

(And Armie thinks about how he’d fingered girls in school and it wasn’t a big deal, not at the time. How he’d tried to distract them from how not into making out with them he was by pressing a finger inside and trying to figure out what might feel good. Tries to wrap his mind around how Nick thinks it’s a big deal that Timmy maybe fingered Armie’s ass and why that is such a big deal, but he can’t really keep everything in line right now. Wonders if he admitted everything that was going on, if Nick would change his mind and say, “Oh, he just fingered your mysterious vagina?”)

\--and now you’re telling me he’s not into you anymore? Like, what the fuck is that? I’m going to--”

“You’re _not_ going to kill my roommate,” Armie insists. “I don’t know. I think he was just trying to let me down easily or something. We did that and then, like, watched a movie and kissed and then I fell asleep and when I woke up this morning, he was gone.” 

Nick looks like he’s holding back some choice words. He stands up and retrieves his coffee. Stands in the kitchen and takes a long sip. “Okay, so,” he starts. Ponders his thoughts then says, “You haven’t talked to him today? And what was the absolute last thing you remember happening last night with him?”

Armie remembers drifting in and out of sleep. Feeling Timmy’s hand on his waist, stroking down to cup his ass. Every now and then sliding down his thigh, tickling the back of his leg. Every now and then whispering how he loved Armie’s body, his legs. “Um,” he can feel his cheeks heating up and, really, Nick deserves some sort of award for this. “He was just touching my legs. And cuddling.” 

“Okay,” Nick says. Nods like he’s assessing the situation, and it’s all so ridiculous that it makes Armie want to laugh, but he doesn’t. “So, you guys did stuff and cuddled? And then he just left?”

“Oh, I didn’t...like. That’s the other thing,” Armie says and his cheeks have to be bright red right now. Nick’s are starting to get there, too, and this is definitely more than Nick wants to hear, but, “He didn’t want me to touch him.” 

He watches Nick’s chest expand and contract with a breath and wants to tell him to go put a shirt on. This isn’t the type of conversation he really needs to be having with his half naked best friend who has made it quite clear that only vague discussions of sex are in order. When Nick lost his virginity, he didn’t tell Armie for almost a month, and even then was like, “Oh, yeah, I guess it didn’t come up. It was fine.” 

Armie didn’t lose his virginity until years after that and it was anything but fine and he had to close his eyes and think of anything but his girlfriend in order to come and felt guilty as hell afterwards and when he told Nick, Nick had listened but looked uncomfortable. Said, “Maybe she’s not your _type_,” and at the time, Armie thought he was referring to blonds, but looking back, he meant, “Maybe it’s because you’d rather be sucking a dick but I don’t have it in me to say that.”

Also, maybe a bit of that was true about blonds, too. 

“I can go,” Armie says and he starts to stand up but Nick shakes his head and waves him back to the couch. “I’m sorry, this is just--”

“Armie, this is just a lot to happen in like, a day.” Armie wants to tell him he has no idea. That he has no fucking idea exactly what has happened and just _how much_ it all really is. “I don’t know. Have you thought that maybe Timmy is a bit confused now, too? Like, up until yesterday he just stared longingly at you like a fucking shelter dog waiting for you to pick him, and then,” he waves his hand as if to say, ‘and then you basically were like hey I like you and we should fast forward through all the talking stuff and you should put your fingers in me.’

Which. 

Well, okay, maybe Armie had tried to move things a bit quickly, but hadn’t they already done all the talking? Weren’t they already closer than most people? They lived together; Armie knows that Timmy likes the left side of the bed, skims entire books before he reads them, and gets up at least once in the middle of the night for a glass of water. 

“I mean, he didn’t seem like he didn’t _want_ to move things along.” 

Nick shrugs. “You can want to move things along but also feel like, I don’t know, like maybe you shouldn’t. And, haven’t you told me that Timmy kinda like,” Nicks makes a face that Armie can’t identify. Can tell he’s trying to say something without actually having to say it. “That he like, has a lot of visitors?” Armie nods. “Maybe he didn’t want you to get any weird ideas about, like, what all of this is.” 

Armie wants to tell him. Wants to say, ‘It’s not the whole story,’ and see if that changes anything. But he’s tried to tell him so many times, but the words catch in his throat. And it’s not because he doesn’t trust Nick or love Nick, because he does. 

But it’s different with Timmy. They’re not nearly as close as Nick and Armie, but Armie feels like he can tell him things that he doesn’t want to tell Nick. That he _wants_ to tell Timmy things he _can’t_ tell Nick. Like that morning, when Timmy walked in on him, Armie had been sitting there, thinking, ‘I should get Timmy’s help,’ but not wanting to burden Timmy with whatever was going on. 

Armie thinks about how Timmy took everything in stride. Tried to help, even if Armie lied and said he didn’t want his help. How Timmy called in sick to work because he felt bad about the entire situation. 

Thinks about how Timmy took Armie’s burden as his own. 

Armie stands up and sets his coffee mug down. “I should probably see if I can talk to him.” 

NIck nods slowly like Armie should have figured this out long before he came over here, but he smiles and says, “Let me know how things go, okay?” Before Armie leaves, Nick adds, “And, the offer still stands if you want me to kill him.”

_____

By the time Armie gets home, he’s almost drafted a text in his head. Something casual like _you coming back soon_ or _hey can we talk_, but even those sound needy. Worried. Subtly frantic like he just needs confirmation that Timmy likes him, that he doesn't+ think all of this is weird, that _Armie_ is weird. 

He’s settled on _want to get lunch_, and is about to type it out when he decides to check that Timmy’s not home. Peaks in his room and sees his unmade bed again. Imagines Timmy crawling into bed last night and wonders if he stared at his ceiling for a while. If he slept well or if he just tossed and turned like Armie hears him doing so many nights that he’s alone. 

Armie takes a step closer into the room and is overwhelmed by Timmy. It smells like his soap, his expensive hair product that Armie still can’t believe he owns. Faintly like the cologne that he rarely wears and every time Armie asks him what it is he says, “I don’t know, some shit Pauline got me,” rolling his eyes like he doesn’t get just how good he smells when he wears it. How Armie wants to burrow into his neck every single time. 

He’s about to pull his phone from his pocket when he notices a familiar grey fabric peeking out from under Timmy’s pillow. Just the slightest hint of familiarity and--

“Fuck,” Armie whispers. He presses his fist into the mattress and leans over. Tugs at the fabric, pulls it loose, and they’re his underwear, his panties. 

(His fucking _panties_ and what the actual _fuck_? He owns panties. Of course Timmy is confused. Armie is beyond confused and he’s forced Timmy into all of this. Timmy, who touched him last night and made him feel comfortable in this foreign body, who told him he likes him no matter what body he’s in.)

Except, he realizes almost immediately that they aren’t just his anymore. He rubs the fabric between his fingers and feels the stiffness in the crotch from his own build up, his own orgasms. His orgasms that Timmy indirectly gave him, that he showed him how to earn. But, there, along the legs. Up to the waistband, there are other stains and Armie feels sick, but he wants to keep them like this. Wants to put them in his first and hold them close and know that Timmy got off from him. 

That Timmy got off because of him. That Timmy put his used panties on his cock and came on them and--

“Fuck, Armie, what are you--”

Armie drops his underwear onto the ground and turns around. “I’m sorry, I was looking for--”

“--I can explain,” Timmy says, stepping forward. His eyes glancing down at Armie’s underwear, then back up at Armie. “Oh, god, please let me explain,” Timmy whispers and comes closer. Grabs Armie’s hands and pulls them to his lips. Kisses his knuckles. “Armie, I know it looks weird, but I--”

“It’s not weird,” Armie whispers, and looks up to catch Timmy’s eyes. “What’s weird is you just, like, leaving me last night. Not letting me touch you and not, you know, like, treating me like everyone else you bring home.”

“Armie,” Timmy says. Leans forward and kisses his cheek. “You’re not like everyone else I bring home. Fuck, how don’t you see that?” He sighs and closes his eyes. Opens them, and Armie just wants to forget he said anything. Forget he said anything because of course, of course. He’s being dumb, this whole thing is dumb. “I left because I was freaking out a bit. Because I like you so much and I keep worrying that you only want this because I know about what’s happening. That when things go back to normal--or, fuck. Not normal, just like, the way things were, you won’t need me and--”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Armie laughs and pulls Timmy close. Kisses him softly and doesn’t worry about rushing things. Doesn’t worry about anything but Timmy’s lips and his hands. 

Doesn’t worry until Timmy pulls back and looks up at him with his eyebrows slightly furrowed. “Wait, what did you mean when you said I’m not treating you like everyone else? Like, what did I do that made you feel that way?” 

Armie feels his cheeks heating up again. Lies, “I mean, you didn’t let me touch you and--”

Timmy smiles and pushes at Armie’s chest. Pushes until he sits on the side of the bed, then crawls into his lap. Shakes his head and Armie _knows_ he knows and it makes his tongue feel heavy. Makes him shift his hips, searching for a bit of pressure, a bit of relief because Timmy is looking at him so intensely, so hungrily, that it makes him ache.

“No, no, no,” Timmy shakes his head. Takes Armie’s hand and presses it against his crotch and, fuck. He’s hard, maybe not all the way, but enough that makes Armie draw a breath in. “We can just get that off the table. Of course I want you to touch me, Armie, but you said I wasn’t treating you like everyone else. What do you mean?” 

Armie gives Timmy’s cock a soft squeeze, feels him fill out a bit more and says, “Just forget I--”

And then Timmy’s kissing below Armie’s ear. Whispering, “Thin walls, right? You want me to talk to you like that?” Armie nods quickly and slips his hand down further. Feels the weight of Timmy’s balls through his pants and, fuck, he can’t believe he waited this long. Timmy takes a swipe at Armie’s earlobe, then tugs with his teeth gently before saying, “Want me to tell you how good your big hands feel on me? How I can’t wait to really feel them on me, in me?”

Armie nods again and closes his eyes. Leans down to rest his head on Timmy’s shoulder, starting a firm up and down pattern, thinking about all of those times on the couch when their legs would press together and Armie would think about reaching over and doing this. 

“You want to touch me, don’t you? Get my cock out and touch me, Armie, you know I want you to,” Timmy grins against Armie’s cheek and Armie scrambles for the waist of Timmy’s sweatpants. Pushes them down over his hips, his ass, and whines when Timmy stands up. 

Realizes he’s just getting rid of his pants, then slipping back into Armie’s lap and it’s been a long fucking time since Armie has seen a cock that isn’t his. It’s been a long fucking time since he’s seen his own cock, it seems, and Timmy’s cock is beautiful. He didn’t think a cock could be beautiful, but it is. And he wonders, briefly, if it’s always like this or if it’s just because this particular cock is attached to Timmy, but his mouth is watering and his hands are shaking a bit and-- “I wanted you to touch me last night, Armie, don’t even think for a second that I didn’t. Fuck, the things, I wanted you to do to me. I wanted your mouth so much. I wanted to watch you suck on a cock for the first time, Armie. I’d be your first, wouldn’t I?”

“Fuck, Timmy,” Armie whispers and wraps his hands around Timmy’s dick. Gives him a dry tug and slips his palm around the head of his cock. Just wants to feel. 

"Tell me," Timmy insists. "Would I be the first cock to fuck your mouth?"

And Armie knows that the answer is clear, that Timmy already knows, but he nods anyway. “Yeah,” he says and pulls his hand from Timmy’s cock. Brings it to his mouth and--

“No, no,” Timmy says, grabbing his hand by the wrist and bringing it to his lips. Pressing an open mouth to Armie’s fingers, his eyes grinning as he waits a split second before teasing the webbing between Armie’s fingers with his tongue. Flicking it once, twice, then licking up between his fingers and back down. Chuckling softly when Armie softly pinches his tongue between his fingers, releases. “God, your fucking hands,” Timmy whispers before sucking two of Armie’s fingers into his mouth, twirling his tongue around them and then pushing down until they’re nudging the back of his tongue. Pulling off and then licking along Armie’s palm, gathering spit in his cheeks and pushing it onto Armie’s hand. Guiding Armie’s hand back to his cock and, “Bet this is the first cock you’ve touched other than yours, yeah? You thought about touching me before, though, right? You thought about me coming on your hand and licking it off. Did you ever jerk off and do that? Suck your come off your fingers and wish it was mine? Because I did, Armie. I’d lick myself clean and wish it was you and you know what I did the other night? When I showed you how to make yourself come and you let me touch that perfect cunt for the first time? I tasted it and came so fucking hard.”

And, fuck, it’s better than anything Armie has heard at night. Better because it’s not just words. It’s the truth and--”I want your mouth on me,” Armie blurts. 

Timmy thrusts up into Armie’s palm and leans in to kiss him. Whispers against his lips, “Tell me more.”

“I don’t know, I don’t--”

“You want me to lick your wet cunt? How wet are you right now, anyways? I bet you’re fucking soaking through your panties which are fucking hot by the way. I bet you’d like me to lick them. Bet you want me to suck on your panties, bet you want to watch me fuck into them like I did last night. Would you like that? Would you like to watch me come on your panties and--”

“Yes, please,” Armie whispers and he’s pushing Timmy away. Watching as he stands up and pulls his shirt off, exposes all of himself to Armie. 

And then Armie’s working at his own pants. Pushing them off his hips and kicking them away before pulling his shirt off. Leaving himself in just a white pair of underwear that dig into his thighs, his ass. A look that he’s stared at in the mirror for days and hated but--

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” Timmy whispers before climbing back into his lap and kissing him, kissing him, kissing him and none of it matters because Timmy thinks he’s perfect.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Armie, sorry I made you wait that long to get at Timmy's mouth. I'll try to get better at that.

Timmy reaches between them and grips his cock. Slaps it against Armie’s belly, then slides the head across his skin and asks, “Have you thought about me like this before? Thought about me in your lap?”

“Yeah,” Armie admits, because of course he has. At first, he’d tried to ignore it. And he did a great job until Timmy brought home the first guy and introduced him to Armie. Said, ‘Hey, this is Travis--’ and the tall guy that Armie immediately hated corrected, ‘Trevor,’ but didn’t seem that offended. Apparently he thought it was cute and slipped his hand around Timmy’s waist. Kissed the top of his head. 

When he brought home the first guy and immediately went to his bedroom and Armie turned the television up but had no idea what he was watching because _oh_. Because that had definitely been a dude and he definitely followed Timmy to his bedroom, stumbling behind him as he tried to keep his hands on Timmy’s hips, his lips against his neck. 

And he was used to him bringing girls home--Timmy, he found out, had a very healthy sex life, something that made Armie feel a bit awkward. Maybe start to go out more with Nick. Bring home girls he touched but didn’t want to feel--but this was a first and, well. It made him think about how nice Timmy’s hands looked. How he liked his thin waist and hips and maybe, definitely, wanted to feel those hips against his. Wanted Timmy in his lap, his arms, his bed. 

Armie hands travel to the small of Timmy’s back, loving how his soft skin covers tight muscle, how his body is more solid and substantial than what he’s used to, while still being small enough for his hands to envelope. He cups Timmy’s slight ass. Spreads his hands across his cheeks, tucks his fingertips inside his crease. “Yeah,” he whispers and then slides a finger against Timmy’s hole. “I’ve thought about it.”

Timmy lets go of his cock, lets it settle against Armie’s body. “Thought about fucking me, right?”

Armie nods, tucks his face into Timmy’s neck. “Yeah, but--” he says, and his fingers slip away, back to Timmy’s hips. Starts to let his mind race but before he can get any sort of traction on a specific thought, Timmy cuts him off. 

“I’ve thought about you fucking me. Thought about sitting on that cock, feeling you stretch me out. And where the fuck did you go?” Timmy laughs and reaches for one of Armie’s hands. Pulls it back to his hole and rolls his hips against his fingers. “Yeah, I want that when we can, Armie. But right now?” 

Armie presses against Timmy’s opening. Thinks of nights spent doing this to himself, wanting it to be Timmy under his finger. Wanting it to be Timmy’s finger. 

Timmy’s hole clenches against the tip of Armie’s digit and he turns his face to Armie’s cheek. Kisses him and whispers against his stubble (and he should have shaved--shit, he should have shaved more places than his face really, but he didn’t expect to be here with Timmy in his lap, his lips scratching themselves on Armie’s skin), “Right now, I want you to sit on my face. Is that okay?” Armie nods against Timmy, even though that sounds like a lot. “I want you to sit on my face and fuck my tongue. Want you to use my mouth, can you do that, Armie?’ Armie nods again, and Timmy urges, “I can’t hear you, Armie. Doesn’t seem like you--”

Armie’s hips shift under Timmy. He’s wet. Can feel the slickness between his legs that just gets worse when he feels Timmy’s cock sliding against him. Enjoys the slight feeling of being in control. Being able to see how much Timmy wants him, but keeping his own desires partially hidden, even if he himself is obvious. So obvious. 

He’s been wet since Timmy said, ‘Tell me more,’ and it’s not uncomfortable, even though he can feel himself starting to soak his panties. It’s not uncomfortable like the other night when he was desperately trying to get off and it felt good but it wasn’t enough and he couldn’t take it anymore and--God, he can’t believe he actually did that. That he straddled Timmy’s lithe body and pulled his hand to his crotch and--

“I--” he stammers. “Yeah, I want to--”

“You want to sit on my face? Wanna get yourself off on my tongue? Because you don’t seem so sure,” Timmy shrugs and offers a soft smile that opens even wider into an almost shocked grin when Armie presses the tip of his finger into Timmy’s dry hole and _fuck_ he’s so tight and Armie is conflicted because he wants nothing more than for Timmy to eat him out while simultaneously _also_ wanting nothing more than to have his cock back so he can fuck Timmy. “Oh, is that it? You want to get at my hole, huh? Want to lick me open and--”

“No, no, I want to sit on your face,” Armie says frantically, moving his hands to Timmy’s waist. Correcting, “I mean, yes, I do want to do that but not, like, right--like maybe later and like, very soon later but--”

Timmy laughs and leans down to kiss the tip of Armie’s nose. Whispers, “You know, we can do both, right? At the same time, even.” 

Armie’s grip on Timmy’s waist tightens and he looks up at him. Whispers, “Okay.” 

Timmy cups Armie’s face with his palms. Leans in for a gentle kiss and assures him, “We can do everything you want, Armie.” 

Armie’s worries he blushes when he says, “Well, not _everything_.”

Timmy laughs and nods. Nips at Armie’s lips. “Eventually,” and his confidence that things will go back to normal--that Armie will go back to normal--gives Armie the confidence to nip back. 

_____

Armie feels too big as he kneels over Timmy’s face. Feels like he’s taking up too much space in a place that isn’t his, where he doesn’t belong. He feels too open with his thighs spread, Timmy’s curls tickling the insides of his knees. 

Is about to roll off the bed, about to say, ‘We don’t have to do this,’ when Timmy’s hands cup the front of his thighs. Squeeze, then slip around to the back. Slide up so a few digits can slip under the seam of his panties to clench his ass. Encourage him to lower himself an inch or two, to brace his hands on Timmy’s thighs--which is more than needed when Timmy opens his mouth against Armie’s underwear, flattening his tongue against him. Chuckling softly against the fabric; pulling back to quickly note, “So wet, Armie.”

Then, he points the tip of his tongue against Armie. Guides him with his hands, once, twice, rocks Armie against him, before loosening his grip (but, fuck, still holding on, still holding on.) Letting Armie start to rock against his tongue, letting him shift. And Armie, for a moment, thinks he can’t. 

Thinks he’s out of line, that this is too much, that Timmy is just being nice. Probably thinking about someone else. Closing his eyes and attaching Armie’s cunt to another face. A slim body with perky tits and but then Timmy’s tongue is gone and he’s tilting his head up. Kissing Armie’s clit through the thin fabric. Using his hands to brace Armie’s waist and taking a moment to feel his back before digging his fingers into Armie and coaxing him into his motions. Whispering, “So fucking hot, Armie.” And Armie looks up--didn’t realize he was straining his neck down to try and see Timmy’s mouth--and, god. 

For a split second, he thought he wanted to ask Timmy if they could switch positions. If he could get his mouth on Timmy later so that Armie could lay on his back. Watch Timmy between his thighs, see the glisten of his lips as he pulled Armie’s panties off. Spread his thighs and fucked his tongue into him and--

Literally just a split second because now he’s looking up and there’s Timmy’s cock. Hard and leaking the tiniest drop of precum and maybe it’s the soft hums of approval Timmy’s started to make as Armie’s thrusts become firmer (and, fuck, he seems to like it when Armie grinds down a bit, his moans crescendoing each time), maybe it’s Timmy taking one of his hands off Armie’s waist so he can hook it on the crotch of Armie’s panties to pull them aside. 

Maybe it’s Timmy holding Armie’s waist so tightly that he gets the hint to freeze for a second. Maybe it’s the sound of elastic stretching, breaking, as Timmy pulls Armie’s underwear so far to the side he can hook them over his ass cheek, can run his fingers through Armie’s wetness before dipping one inside and whispering, “Look at you, Armie, my God.”

Maybe it’s all of those things because Armie reaches for Timmy’s cock. Grips the base and tilts the head toward his lips so he can lick that droplet of precum from his slit. Swallowing and licking his lips, smiling when Timmy’s hips jerk up an inch, his cock slipping along Armie’s lips, his cheek, settling back onto the mattress as Timmy curls his finger inside of Armie. Lets out a soft sigh and admits, “Didn’t think you were quite that eager for my cock in your mouth, Armie.” 

And then, he pulls Armie back against his mouth. Brings both his hands to grip Armie’s hips and holds him firmly while dragging his tongue along Armie’s clit, starting with soft pressure that escalates as he makes his way to his hole, easing inside before starting to fucking in and out of him, sloppily pausing to suck his thick labia passed his lips, give a soft pull before moving back to his entrance. Seeming not to care about how big of a mess he makes, how wet Armie makes his face, his chin. 

Seeming only to care about keeping Armie still, taking over and, Armie realizes maybe giving him a chance to focus on other things (though for a moment, Timmy’s eagerness makes it impossible to focus on anything but Timmy’s tongue, his lips. The gentleness of his lower lip bumping against Armie’s clit every now and then, making Armie want to rock into that touch but instead only able to open his mouth and moan as he starts to stroke Timmy’s cock. Tilt his head forward so he can start licking at the head while he loosely fists Timmy’s cock. 

Eventually--when he can feel more than hear the eager noises Timmy is making against Armie’s cunt--he wraps his lips around Timmy’s cock and gives a sweet suck, the saltiness of Timmy’s precum slipping into his mouth, the back of his throat and, for whatever reason, causing him to clench around Timmy’s tongue. 

“Oh you love it, don’t you? Love having my dick in your mouth, yeah? We’ll go slow for now, Armie, but one of these days I’m going to work your throat open until I can just fuck that mouth of yours, you’d love that even more, I just know,” Timmy says, his voice gentle but his teeth sharp as they bite his inner thigh, and his words, his cock, fuck, everything are too much and this split second of no contact is too much. 

Armie lets go of Timmy’s cock to reach between his legs. Rubs his clit for a second before thrusting two fingers inside his cunt as Timmy chuckles softly. Lifts his hips a fraction so that he slips further into Armie’s mouth. 

“Armie, this is--fuck,” Timmy says, seemingly at a loss for words. Leaning up to lick around Armie’s fingers, which are now frantically thrusting inside himself as he tries his best to work Timmy’s cock with his tongue, his lips. Knows he’s doing terribly, but Timmy doesn’t seem to mind, doesn’t seem to care. “God, Armie, you sure are surprising me. Thought I might have to talk you through everything, but, fuck. You’re just so desperate to be filled up aren’t you? Your mouth, your cunt--”

(And Armie groans around Timmy’s cock because this is more. This is more than what he’s heard through thin walls and it’s still not enough, still feels like Timmy might be holding back, but it’s still more, more, more, and he presses his thumb against his clit, letting the rocking of his hand start helping him build toward release. )

\--and Timmy starts to sit up a bit, leading with his face like he’s searching for something. Eager for anything as he forces Armie down the mattress a bit, which makes it hard to keep more than just the tip of Timmy’s cock in his mouth. Doesn’t let him do more than just suckle and slurp, but Timmy seems to love it. Grips Armie’s ass and pulls his cheeks apart, opens his mouth against Armie’s asshole. Licks sloppily before kissing and asking, “You want me here, too right? Want me in every single one of your holes, yeah?”

And Armie can’t help but nod, sucking hard on the tip of Timmy’s dick and swallowing the small spurts of precum that slip into his mouth. Can’t help but fingerfuck himself harder, rocking back against Timmy’s mouth, not understanding the sensation of Timmy’s tongue on his asshole, the sloppiness of his spit, the firm pliance of the action. Eventually just letting his fingers work himself while Timmy alternates between open mouth kisses and harsh prods of his tongue as he works to open Armie up. No longer able to do anything but hold Timmy’s cock in his mouth, the erratic movements of his body allowing him to take a few more inches. 

And then Timmy’s mouth is gone, breath cool against the dampness of Armie’s skin as he says, “Tell me you want me in all your holes, Armie. Please,” like he needs it almost as much as Armie. Maybe more. 

He feels Timmy’s hands pulling him apart further, feels open and exposed and sinks his fingers inside himself as far as he can. Frantically rubs his clit with his thumb as he feels the warmth spreading in his stomach, his abs clenching. The sweet pull of his orgasm. 

He lets Timmy cock fall from his lips and nods, “I want you, Timmy. Want you in all of my holes, want you to fuck me, please, want--” and then Timmy presses a long thin finger into his ass and Armie’s back is arching as his orgasm shakes through his body. As he tries to chase it, to pull it away because it’s all so much, too much. 

“Oh, fuck, Armie,” Timmy talks him through it, not moving his finger but letting Armie fuck himself on it as his body rocks back and forth, as he buries his face in Timmy’s thigh and lets out curse after curse. “Look at you, just so pretty fucking yourself on my finger, your fingers. Can’t wait to see how you love it when there’s a cock in you, when my cock is filling you up and making you come apart, but my God you look so good right now, so good stuffed with our fingers.” 

And it’s too much as Armie’s stomach starts to relax. Slips his fingers out of himself and then--fuck. Holds still as Timmy works his finger in and out of Armie’s ass for a second. Gets close, so close, to making him oversensitive, but then pulls out. Leans forward to press a quick kiss to his hole, the inside of his ass cheek. 

“Want more?” Timmy asks, simply. 

Armie just groans against his thigh. Pants. Isn’t sure what more could possibly be because his body is tired, tingling. But he nods anyways. Lets Timmy push him down the bed until he’s lying on his stomach. Until Timmy is wrestling Armie’s panties down to his knees and then draping himself over Armie’s back. Slipping his cock between his thighs and fucking into the slickness left behind. 

“Fuck, Armie, can’t wait to fuck you for real. You’ll let me do that, won’t you? Let me fuck your pussy?” Armie nods. “Your ass?” 

“Ye-ah.” Armie’s voice catches as the head of Timmy’s cock momentarily dips inside his cunt and he almost wants Timmy to just do it, to fuck him now, but then he’s thrusting against Armie’s clit, over and over and he’s going to come again, he can feel it. Not as strong as the first time, but comfortable, soothing. Timmy’s cock coaxing it out of him until he’s just nodding against the mattress, chanting Timmy’s name. Rocking back into Timmy’s movements that are becoming more and more frantic, less controlled. 

“Armie, I’m so--” Timmy pulls back, kneels above Armie, who manages to pull one of his legs out of his underwear. Roll on his back and look up with lidded eyes at Timmy, who begs, “Please can I come on you? I want to come on you, please, you can say no, but I--”

And Armie doesn’t know who he is, because he reaches down and bends his leg. Pulls his panties off and tosses them at Timmy’s chest as he nods. “Use these,” and reaches down to softly play with his wet pussy that’s so sensitive now each brush of his fingers against his clit sends electric sparks through his body that only intensify when Timmy curses under his breath and snatches the panties. 

Wraps them around the base of his cock and seems to struggle to keep his eyes open as he starts jerking off, fisting his cock with Armie’s panties and spewing random words that maybe make sense to Timmy but to Armie just sound like want, want, need, and he loves every single one of them. 

Spreads his legs wider and bends his legs a little so Timmy can watch as he slides his finger down, down--”Fuck, Armie, fuck, yeah touch that little hole”--and taps against his puckered opening and--

“Fuck, fuck, jesus, fuck,” Timmy pants as he comes, thick spurts of jizz striping Armie’s abs, his chest, the base of his neck. Rolling down his cock to coat his fist, Armie’s panties and-- “Fuck,” Timmy breathes, finally exhaling and coming to a stop. Closing his eyes to take a few breaths before opening them and smiling down at Armie. “You are,” he laughs and pulls the panties from his cock. Uses them to wipe his hand clean before ducking down to kiss Armie quickly. “God, Armie.” 

He settles in next to Armie. Nestles against him, wrapping an arm around his waist. Not seeming to care about the mess on Armie’s body.

Armie swallows. 

Suddenly remembering how he fucked himself on Timmy’s fingers, his mouth. How he fingered himself and-- “So, that was, like--”

Timmy reaches up and tugs at Armie’s hair. Turns his head and kisses him again, this time swiping his tongue into Armie’s mouth. Pulls back to say, “Perfect. Really, really perfect.” 

And Armie smiles. Kisses him back. Soft, languid kisses that begin and end with smiles and giggles, like neither can believe what they just did. That stretch on and on until they are pausing just to look at one another. To blink lazily and rub noses. 

He kisses him back until Timmy suggests a shower and they make their way to the bathroom. Fit themselves together in the shower and wash each other's bodies, each using their own soaps on the other’s body out of habit. 

Later, they make dinner, watch a movie. Struggle to keep their hands to themselves until Armie suggests they just go to bed, (Maybe hopes for a repeat of earlier. Or maybe not a repeat but a continuation) and they go about their routines at the same time, bodies bumping into one another in the small bathroom. Eyes communicating in the mirror as they brush their teeth, Armie insisting Timmy rinse first. 

“I just have to check something,” Timmy says, kissing Armie’s shoulder then going to his room, the obvious state of Timmy’s bed meaning they didn’t need to discuss sleeping in Armie’s. 

Armie rinses and washes his face. Puts on moisturizer and turns the lights off in the house. Slips into his bed and checks his phone. Plugs it in. Rolls over and waits. 

Minutes stretch on and Armie thinks about this morning. About waking up alone and his stomach starts to twist, to ache. He slips out of bed and goes to Timmy’s room, finds him leaning over his laptop, knee on his desk chair like he didn’t plan on staying long. “You coming, or--”

And Timmy straightens up. Snaps his laptop closed and then turns around. Easily walks forward and wraps his arms around Armie’s neck. Places a kiss on his lips. “Sorry, got caught up reading something stupid.” 

And they go to bed. 

They go to bed and Timmy easily slips against Armie’s body. Tugs his arm around his waist and lets Armie wrap himself around him, hold him close. Kiss the back of his neck and stroke Timmy’s chest, his stomach. 

And it feels nice. 

Feels perfect except for the ache in the pit of Armie’s stomach. The echo of the laptop snapping shut. He closes his eyes and tries to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> bartbarthelme on tumblr.


End file.
